


Warcraft: Kingdom of Light

by allen_bair



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-24 20:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 117,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16182929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allen_bair/pseuds/allen_bair
Summary: Following the events of Warcraft: for Unto Us a Savior, the world of Azeroth has forever changed due to the life, death, and resurrection of the man known as Jeshua. The world is still coming to terms with the consequences of the redemptive healing of the undead, and the rejuvenation of the entire planet when a new message is given that will change everything, "Azeroth awakens."





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

Chapter 1

 

In Lordaeron's Cathedral of Light...

 

The cloaked stranger stepped gingerly into the restored narthex of the ancient cathedral, a heavy dark blue cowl hiding his face in its shadow. The sun had gone down some hours before, but he found the old church still lit cheerfully and welcoming in a way he had not seen it for many, many years. He had been wary upon learning of the drastic changes which had befallen the city which had formerly been his home; wary of the response of its current queen to his presence, and wary of revealing his true form to its current population. In a city now filled with the living, he was not certain how an undead man would be received even if, not a few months before, it too had been entirely populated by those just as dead as his own flesh was.

 

He had not been present on Azeroth when the “new dawn” had occurred. Indeed, he had been serving at the Netherlight Temple as he had done since the Legion War and had only just learned of the events surrounding the man named Jeshua leading up to the “new dawn” which had occurred: the worldwide restoration and healing which had taken place upon the man's death, burial, and, if it was to be believed, his self-resurrection. Why he himself had not been told when it was happening of the man who for months had been curing the plague of undeath, or the other “miracles” he had performed he couldn't understand, and there was a trace of bitterness towards the other members of his order who had failed to tell him of all people. Even Saurfang, the Supreme Commander of the Orcs, knew long before he had. News within the Priestly Conclave, it seemed, did not travel as fast as in other Orders; especially when it concerned subjects that were squarely within its domain. Or perhaps, it simply did not travel to _him_ as fast as to others.

 

He had first learned of the young human teacher a week after the new dawn had occurred. When he was told, he thought the cleric who informed him was either lying to him or trying to be funny. How had either he or Calia not heard of it sooner? But all those of his Order who had known had not returned to Netherlight themselves for some time when it was happening, instead they had been engaged trying to deal with it here on Azeroth. Alonsus Faol, the former Archibishop of Lordaeron had been forgotten it seemed.

 

He had traveled first by way of the permanent portal to the floating Mage's city of Dalaran which still hung over the Broken Isles, and then from there he discreetly used the portal that had permanently linked that city to the magic user's quarter in the Undercity. It had not been his first foray into the former sewers of Lordaeron, but things seemed much changed regardless. There was much he did not recognize, especially the silence and emptiness. Things were darker and felt much colder and lifeless than usual. Upon his previous trips, the underground city of the undead had been as much a bustling metropolis as it had on the surface during its more... lively days. But when he had arrived earlier that evening, there was virtually no one to be seen anywhere.

 

It was only when he had followed the circuitous route to the surface through the old sewers and mausoleum that the real surprise had been sprung on him. Everything he had heard about the former undead capital was true. As he quietly moved through the old throne room, now lit with sconces and watched by living human guards it was like stepping into the past decades ago. The chamber, though unoccupied at the moment by the current “Queen”, had been cleaned and restored to its former stateliness. Out into the original city proper he was greeted with new stone work, the smells (as much as his undead nostrils could smell) of newly cut timbers, home cooked meals, and fireplaces. And then there was the new emblem that the Forsaken Queen Sylvanas, it seemed, had chosen for the newly restored people. It greeted him on every soldier's tabard he passed.

 

All of the tabards and hanging standards bore the same image, so far different from the old banshee's face imposed on a purple background. What greeted him now was a snow white field, against which was imposed the image of a golden door with what looked like a halo of light around it. And against the image of the door was imposed the blood red form of a human man with arms stretched out in a “T” shape. If it was to be believed, it was an image of how the supposed “miracle worker” had died, beaten and murdered by Worgen, hung up on the main entry door to Lordaeron's own throne room in a botched attempt to make it look like Sylvanas had ordered it instead.

 

It looked as though Sylvanas had upended this intention, using the image instead to rally her people around their newest savior. This renegade Priest Jeshua had made quite the impression on the Warchief of the Horde and former Banshee Queen to say the least.

 

The doors to the old cathedral in Lordaeron looked as though they had been scrubbed clean and freshly painted a bright shade of royal blue as he brushed his carefully gloved hand across the face of one. He patted it before moving on, almost as if greeting an old friend for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. As he stepped through the entryway and into the foyer, he received the distinct sense that his old friend was not only greeting him back, but was happy to see him too.

 

Faol had not returned to Lordaeron's Cathedral of Light for decades since the Twilight's Hammer had claimed his life before the Scourge, who then did not allow him peace in death. In life, he had been the author of the Paladin orders, consecrating their first noble warriors to the Light himself in Stratholme. It was he who had collected the money to rebuild the Abbey at Northshire and the Cathedral of Light in Stormwind after the Orcish Horde's deprivations during the first and second wars. His entire life had been spent in bringing healing, faith, and reconciliation to the Light wherever possible. But all that seemed to count for nothing after he woke from his murder. Not only was he cast out from the people he had spent his life in service to, but, in spite of his previous life spent in service to the Light, he too struggled in its presence in his undeath. It burned him when he approached, though it had not stopped either him or his faith in the primal force of all creation. It simply made his relationship with the Light more challenging than it had been.

 

Of necessity, there became more shades of gray in his understanding of things as opposed to the black and white he had seen the world in before his death. While he had never truly subscribed to the views of the Shadow denomination of Azeroth's priesthood, he had come to understand them better and with a more compassionate eye than during his lifetime. After all, it was Shadow magic which maintained the bond between his soul and his corpse, and though it was the cause of it, it also prevented his own damnation to the abyss because of his current state.

 

The sanctuary was awash with light as he stepped into it, and his first instinct had been to shrink back in self-preservation, pulling the cowl around his face even tighter. After a few seconds of hesitation, however, he realized that the light around himself was not painful regardless of its brightness. Somehow, it did not burn like it should have, or would have previously at any rate. He then drew back the cowl just a bit to observe his surroundings a little better.

 

The old wooden pews which ringed the circular sanctuary looked freshly restored and polished. There was not a trace of dust anywhere that he could see. There was no scent of decay to be had anywhere unless it was from his own rotting body. The blue carpeted walk from the foyer up to the altar in the center of the large chamber looked clean and new as though it had been freshly woven and laid. Candles shone with a gentle but bright light around the perimeter leading up to the central altar candles which, amazingly, appeared to burn fiercely, but without melting the wax they were made of.

 

As he observed the sanctuary he then noticed something which was not as obvious. He couldn't see any shadows anywhere. He didn't know how that was possible. Light always casts a shadow when something obstructs it, doesn't it? Even when he had celebrated services here in the name of the Holy Light, there had always been some small shadows cast by the natural lighting. But then, as he looked he realized there was nothing natural about the lighting here at all. It was as though the Holy Light itself had returned and refused to share space with the shadows at all, banishing them from its presence altogether.

 

The sanctuary was empty as far as he could see. What worshippers and clerics he reasoned there must now be had all left before he had arrived. All except one lone figure. Towards the center of the sanctuary, in a pew in front of the altar sat an older human man with short graying hair. If the Priest was to guess, he was easily past middle age and not far from the age Alonsus Faol himself had been before he died. He wore an unadorned woolen robe and similar cloak across his shoulders, though that was all he could see from where he was. He could have been either a priestly initiate, a vagabond, or perhaps one of the newly cured of Faol's own Forsaken people. Other than this, the sanctuary appeared empty.

 

Just then the man turned his head and shoulders to look behind him as though he had heard something, though Faol was certain he was careful to not make any sound. The undead Priest had become fairly adept at moving unnoticed when he wanted to.

 

The man's features were tanned and weathered with wrinkles around his eyes and forehead. His chin and cheeks sported what looked like a few weeks worth of beard growth. His eyes had the look of someone who had led a hard and unsettled life who had finally found peace.

 

“Hello, friend!” The man called out with a generous smile, rising to fully turn and face him.

 

The older human man wore undyed linen pants tied with a simple leather belt, and shirt under his woolen robes which appeared now more utilitarian than any indication of class discipline or station. Strangely, his feet were bare with what appeared to be new callouses forming as though he had only chosen to go unshod within the last few months.

 

Faol returned the greeting uncertainly, “Greetings.” His raspy unnatural voice surely giving him away. “It has been some time since I returned home. It is much... changed since last I saw it.”

 

The human then walked towards him down the aisle between the pews. He extended his hand and said, “Jim Jacobson,” introducing himself.

 

Faol stared at the man's hand as he came to stand in front of him as though it were an alien thing. Instead of taking it, he then drew back his cowl to reveal bluish, dead skin and faded blond and gray hair. Wisps of a similarly colored beard graced the dead man's chin and upper lip. Dead corpse's eyes looked upon the human, waiting to gauge his reaction.

 

“Are you certain you wish to shake my hand now, human?” He asked.

 

The human appeared completely unfazed as he responded, “Absolutely, friend. The Light welcomes everyone, no matter who they are.”

 

“That has not always been my experience.” Faol replied. “The welcome has not always been so accepting of my condition at the least.”

 

“I can't speak to that, friend, though I believe you.” Jim responded. “All I know is that Jeshua never turned away anyone, and he's as close to the Holy Light as I've ever gotten. He made me one of his emissaries, and I sure as hell ain't going to turn you away either.”

 

Surprised, the undead Priest found his own right hand raising to meet the human's grasp as he responded, “Alonsus Faol. I was the Archibishop here once upon a time.”

 

It was only then that surprise entered the man's eyes even as he shook Faol's hand warmly. “You're very welcome here then, your grace.” He responded. “Or maybe I should say, 'Welcome home.'”

 

Faol then withdrew his hand. “I appear to have missed many things in my absence.” He remarked. “I regret not being here for recent events. I was... elsewhere.”

 

Jim remained silent, paying his full attention to the undead man with a compassionate look in his eyes.

 

“I seem to have missed out on the cure which was offered.” Faol told him, a sadness in his voice. “Either from Jeshua himself, or the “new dawn” which had occurred. Somehow, someone failed to mention these things to me.”

 

A look of sorrow crossed Jim's face as his heart went out to the cleric. “You still wanna be cured, your grace?” Jim then asked him.

 

“If it were only possible. But as I understand it, one way or the other, the man who could do it is no longer among us.” He responded. “I suppose I have only come to pay my respects.”

 

Jim shook his head in disagreement. “The Captain's always here because the Holy Light's always here, your grace, and he's in every one of us who followed him. Before he left, he made sure the rest of us could carry on what he started. Truth is, I didn't expect anyone to be left with the undeath, but I guess I ain't never figured on there being other worlds out there either, though I heard there were. I suppose I should've, but there it is. So, now I'm askin' again. You want to be cured?” Sincerity was etched in every inch of his face.

 

Alonsus Faol considered his words. In another time he might have considered them heresy or even blasphemy against the Light, but the proof was all around him. “I... In truth, I have missed being here. I have missed feeling at home with the Holy Light. I have felt somewhat lost since my death. I don't know this Jeshua or Captain you speak of, but if there is still power here to cure me, I would be grateful to him if he would.”

 

Then Jim stretched out his right hand and placed it on the undead man's shoulder and told him, “Archbishop Alonsus Faol, be cleansed and made alive in the name of Jeshua Lightborn.”

 

Light, pure Holy Light then filled and exploded outwards from the undead man's body. Tears and rips in the skin of his face mended and healed. The bluish color of his dead skin became pink as blood began to flow through capillaries within it once more. The milky whiteness of his eyes enlivened to an emerald green on white orbs. The dull, dead color of his hair and whiskers took on a new luster. His system in shock he drew in a breath reflexively and a newly beating heart began to race. Within seconds, the light around him began to fade but it left a living, breathing elderly human man in its place.

 

He then dropped to both of his knees as the shock subsided. Jim then knelt down on one knee next to him. He said nothing at first, but allowed the man time to adjust to his new condition.

 

Surprise followed by tears filled his eyes as he took several more breaths. He looked down at his gloved hands and pulled off the dark blue material to reveal aged but living human hands with a fine dusting of gray and blond hairs across the backs. There was no decay or decomposition to them as there had been earlier in the day along with exposed bone.

 

“Welcome home, Archbishop.” Jim then gently told him for a second time.

 

The man didn't answer immediately as he still looked at his hands, pressing them to his robed chest to feel it rise and fall and the beat of the heart beneath it. “Thank you.” He finally managed to say. “I...” He then stopped himself before he finished his sentence, and appeared to be considering something that he hadn't before.

 

“Tell me more about Jeshua, Jim Jacobson. Please.” Alonsus Faol told the man. “I want to know everything about this man and who he was. I want to know more about the man who saved me from the abyss.”

 

“Absolutely.” Jim replied.

 

* * *

 

In Stormwind's Cathedral of Light...

 

The high cleric hadn't hesitated when he had heard the loud crash of stone striking stone hard in the Cathedral that afternoon. Everyone who had been present in the mostly empty sanctuary immediately turned towards the horrendous, echoing sound which had been followed by a cry of extreme pain. Bishop Marcus had rushed towards that sound even as his eyes had turned to see a man, a commoner in blue work overalls and brown shirt lying on the stone floor of the church.

 

Workers had been in the Cathedral's sanctuary all day inspecting and repairing cracks in the sacred building's support arches which had developed over the years. They had been moving their equipment carefully from support to support. It was a routine maintenance that was carried out once a year and paid for by the royal treasury as one of the crown's personal contributions to the church's upkeep.

 

Not more than a week or two had passed since the inexplicable “dawn event” had transformed Azeroth, healing and restoring it in ways that no one with any legitimate experience or credibility within the Church of Light could explain the why or how. There had been some ludicrous story fomented by the Banshee Queen in the north that it had happened because of the heretic preacher Jeshua Davidson, but of course that was nonsense. He knew the man for what he truly had been, a charlatan and a necromancer skilled with glamour spells. Extraordinary, perhaps, but certainly not empowered by the Holy Light.

 

Reaching the man on the stone floor, Marcus could see that he wasn't moving except that his chest was still rising and falling, but with ragged breathing. His eyes were closed in unconsciousness. The most pressing feature however was the badly discolored and bleeding wound to his head, and a corresponding piece of broken white stonework which lay not far from it with blood splattered against it. The man's two co-workers knelt next to him with both concern and hope in their expressions as the Bishop began to call on the Light to heal the man's injuries.

 

Marcus began to say the prayer of healing to the Light that he had memorized long ago during his time as an acolyte as he placed his right hand on the man's head, directly over the serious wound. Within he humbly called on the divine radiance to be merciful and heal the man, expecting to be answered with the Light's own presence flowing through him as he had come to expect.

 

He finished the words of his prayer, and... nothing.

 

Not understanding, he prayed again, more fervently and more seriously.

 

Nothing. There was no response.

 

The workers who knelt next to their comrade looked from their friend to the priest and back again, not understanding what was happening.

 

“Please, your grace, help him!” One of the workers begged him.

 

Marcus prayed again and again, but the Light would not respond to him. It would not answer with either its healing power, or the peace which accompanies its decline for its own reasons. It simply refused to hear him at all.

 

Behind him, an elder woman in the robes of the high clergy knelt down beside the man, “What's wrong?” She asked as she began to lend her own prayers to the man. “The injury is serious, but nothing the Light cannot heal.” She said.

 

Marcus withdrew his own hand to make room for High Priestess Laurena's ministrations to the injured worker. Slowly, a weak golden glow formed around her own slender, feminine hand and the man's wound began to close. She continued to pray for him for what felt like an eternity, and much longer than it should have taken they both knew from either of their many years of experience in service to the Holy Light.

 

Confusion and embarrassment filled Bishop Marcus' features as he watched, unable to assist in any way except to try and hold the unconscious man's hand in some gesture of comfort to him and his companions.

 

When Laurena heard the man's breathing ease, and the bleeding wound had been reduced to a serious bruise, she too withdrew her hand. Though she looked visibly exhausted and confused herself.

 

“He is only sleeping now.” She told the other workers. “We can move him to a safer and more comfortable place, but he will recover.”

 

They nodded their thanks to her, picking their friend up and removing him from the sanctuary. She and the Bishop rose from where they had knelt and called acolytes to assist them with him.

 

When the men were gone, she turned to Bishop Marcus privately and said, “That was far more difficult than it should have been. The Light felt very... hesitant to answer me in any way. If I didn't know better, I would have said the Holy Light only healed the man at all out of a mercy to him, and not through any command I have with it.”

 

Bishop Marcus was silent for several seconds trying to comprehend his own experience. When he spoke, there was a tinge of fear in his voice. “High Priestess, the Light refused me completely. It has never done that before. It felt like there was this impenetrable wall which would not allow the Light to come when I called. It was as though I had lost all connection to the Holy Light, and I don't know why.”

 

* * *

 

Light's Hope Chapel in the Eastern Plaguelands...

 

Lord Grayson Shadowbreaker emerged from the mage's portal that afternoon to a green and growing landscape much, much different than the one he last had seen during his previous visit to the sacred Paladin site. He surveyed it with his good, left eye and instinctively stroked his goatee with his hand. The old chapel for which the fortified encampment was named appeared to have received a fresh coat of white paint. The shingles on the roof looked to be in good repair, and the building itself smelled and felt oddly fresh. The sun in the sky reflected off of the shining warhammer strapped to his back and his gilded Paladin's plate armor cheerily. The sky was clear and blue and scents from fragrant trees growing in the distance intermingled with campfires and the smells of a military camp.

 

In his mind he wondered at the powerful dark magic that had duped his senses so to the plague infested nightmare that he knew the land around Light's Hope Chapel to be. It couldn't have been anything else, he knew. The clergy in Stormwind that had seen then charlatan's “miracles” had assured him.

 

Not far of, and to his disgust, soldiers wearing the tabard of the Argent Crusade collaborated with men wearing the new, blasphemous emblem of the Forsaken in loading pack animals and carts with supplies. He knew they would be sent somewhere to one of the newly “resurrected” settlements or villages within the plaguelands, wasting good supplies on magically concealed monsters.

 

Shadowbreaker shook the close cropped, dark hair of his head at the obvious deception being foisted on his Paladin brothers, but they were too blind to see the truth about the man who had been at the center of it all. Of course, he could do nothing to convince them of this truth. The lord of Stormwind's Paladins had tried a month ago, before things had gone beyond the control of the Paladin order. He had tried to open their eyes to the truth about these so-called “curings” and “resurrections.” Bishop Marcus, a holy man he had respected and admired, had been there at the supposed “raising” of Darrowshire, and had told him the true version of what he had seen.

 

He turned from the sight to approach the chapel. Once more, on behalf of Stormwind's clergy and Paladins, he would attempt to convince the Highlord and the rest of the council of reason. These were good men and women, devoted to the truth and justice of the Holy Light. Soon enough, he believed,the truth would reveal itself eventually and the Light would be vindicated against the charlatan and heretic, Jeshua “Lightborn”. The Light defended and redeemed its own. All of these things he knew in his heart and held them close to his breast.

 

He entered the Cathedral and proceeded to the center of the small, empty sanctuary. The Argent Crusade guards near the doors eyed him, but said nothing either in the way of greeting or recognition. Otherwise, the chapel's facade sanctuary was mostly empty.

 

Shadowbreaker knelt down, placing the palm of his right hand on the sliding false floor. He reached out to the Light with the prayer he knew would open the way to the hidden, true sanctuary of Light's Hope, the Sanctum of Light, and the de facto headquarters of the Order of the Silver Hand.

 

Nothing.

 

The hidden door into the Sanctum remained closed to him. Shadowbreaker prayed again, but there was no movement at all.

 

 _What is this?_ He asked himself, alarmed.

 

A kind of panic beginning to rise within him, he called out within himself to the Holy Light, reaching deep inside. He knew from Highlord Fordring's experience that the Light never truly abandoned anyone. In his armor, he humbly dropped to both knees on the floor, his right hand outstretched against the false floor, and prayed internally and silently to the Light, beseeching it to come to his call.

 

The guards at the door had turned their heads when they heard the man's armor hit against the wood of the floorboards for the second time. “My lord, are you alright?” One of them called out in concern.

 

But Shadowbreaker did not hear him. He heard nothing else around him for the deafening silence within. It was as if a wall had grown up within him between the Light and himself, and he could not explain it as he searched for the divine presence, reaching out intently. Finally, after several minutes of this awkward, impromptu meditation, the face of a man came to him. He was a younger man that Shadowbreaker did not recognize, with strawberry blond hair and beard and sea green eyes. The expression on his face was saddened with disappointment as the man appeared to shake his head at him.

 

Grayson Shadowbreaker had never seen the man before and didn't know who he was or what he had to do with anything, but one thing was painfully clear to him as a fear arose. A deep grief formed within him and a realization struck him hard in a way that few things did. He felt lost and confused.

 

The Light would not come when he called to it.

 

“My lord, are you alright?” The guard asked again, moving from his position to stand uncertainly over the respected Paladin lord, the concern rising in his voice. He knelt down and placed a hand on the prostrate man's shoulder.

 

Lord Grayson Shadowbreaker, Paladin veteran of Northrend and the Legion war, mentor and trainer of Stormwind's Paladins, and devoted servant of the Holy Light opened his one good eye and found himself sobbing like a little lost child who couldn't find his parent.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 

In the ruins of Gilneas...

 

The air in Gilneas City smelled fresh and clean after the morning rainstorm, and only carried a hint of the scent of the wet broken cement and mold of the abandoned royal capital. The cobblestones underneath the aged man's black leather boots were still slick with moisture, and shallow puddles which hadn't yet evaporated dotted the square where he stood. There was little enough ambient noise around him. A few birds flitted through trees once, and the drip drop of remaining rain water coming off rooftops trying to feed those shallow puddles on the ground. Otherwise all was silent.

 

Not far from him, three bodyguards continuously sniffed at the air, their ears pricked for any sound of threat to their monarch during his brief return to the kingdom his family had once ruled. Not far from him, but far enough to allow him his thoughts and privacy, a Worgen Mage stood ready to open a portal back to Stormwind at a moment's notice.

 

Genn Greymane had not stood in this spot for at least two decades. Not since his son had met his end saving his father's life from the Banshee Queen's arrow, sacrificing his own in the process. He wore a long dark gentleman's overcoat over his usual brown suit vest and tie. A single white rose had been placed on the cobblestones by the old man, a tribute to the fallen prince. Another had been placed by him earlier at his son's actual grave farther west towards Keel Harbor.

 

Why Liam's grave hadn't been violated by the Forsaken in all these years, he didn't know. There had been ample opportunity with the Gilneans evacuation. He hadn't put it past Sylvanas to use her Val'kyr to raise his son to the ranks of the undead just to taunt the old wolf. But the grave, all the graves, had remained untouched. He had expected Forsaken forces to have retained at least a minimal presence here, but no. There was no one. Gilneas City had been invaded twenty years previous, but Sylvanas appeared to have given up her prize and just left it there to rot. Everything appeared just as it had the day they had boarded the ships for the Night Elf Capital at Darnassus.

 

He had not been present when the Forsaken emissary had read Sylvanas' “request” for his extradition for the young healer's murder. Of course, Anduin had turned it down at the time, but the young king was still meeting with her to discuss peace after the extraordinary recent events which had changed the face of Azeroth. He and Velen both had gone with a small retinue of bodyguards to Light's Hope Chapel, considered neutral territory and respected by both Alliance and Horde, just that morning.

 

Of course, Greymane _had_ orchestrated the man's demise. It had been nothing so personal against the renegade Priest Jeshua as it had against Sylvanas and the Forsaken in general. It was a kind of politics, dirty even diabolical politics to be sure, but politics nonetheless. It was a cold calculation, and little more. Jeshua had appeared to be an obstacle to the justice that he deserved for his son's death, and he had intended on removing that obstacle in order to ensure Sylvanas' eternal damnation. She had deserved no less for all of her crimes.

 

And then the “dawn event” had happened, and all of his plans had not just been ruined, but completely shredded. He didn't know how it had happened. The high clergyman, Bishop Marcus, swore it was all a grand illusion fostered by a dark force more dangerous than the Lich King himself. Velen, whose experience with such matters had twenty five thousand years on Bishop Marcus, would swear otherwise and had all but convinced the young king of this Jeshua person's sainthood.

 

Personally, he neither knew nor cared _how_ it had happened. What mattered was that it _had_ happened. What mattered was that neither Sylvanas nor her people were undead and damned any longer. What mattered was that all talk of impending war was now pushed to the side in favor of an impending peace. What mattered to Genn Greymane was that Liam's death, and the destruction of his realm would now go unavenged for the time being until he could find a way to sway Anduin's opinion against the Horde again, and the dawn event had made that far, far harder. Anduin had not failed to take notice that both nations of Lordaeron and Quel'Thalas, humans and high elves who were traditional allies, had returned to their living states and were now allied to the Horde.

 

Much more than this, there appeared to be a renewed religious devotion among them to the Holy Light because of this man Jeshua. No doubt, this contributed to Anduin's willingness to talk, the king himself being of the Priestly discipline and devoted to the Holy Light. He did not doubt there would be a good deal of religious discussion at the new peace talks being hosted by the Order of the Silver Hand.

 

 _Everyone'll probably be holding hands in a circle singing hymns._ The old king snorted at the thought. _Everyone but Liam._

 

There were few days when thoughts of his son and heir didn't go through his mind. The very idea of letting Sylvanas get away with his murder in any way was incomprehensible to him. Letting her go meant also letting Liam go, or even betraying his memory, and Greymane couldn't and wouldn't do that.

 

 _You're way out of your depth here, Anduin_. Greymane thought to himself, and it certainly wasn't the first time. _You don't know what you're dealing with, but I do._

 

Still, Anduin wasn't a bad kid, or a bad king. He really wanted the best for his people and all the people of the Alliance, and bore no real ill will himself to the Horde either. He had a good heart, if a bit misguided and soft. Greymane had taken a liking to him, trying to be there for him after Varian had died saving the life of the lord of Gilneas and the lives of everyone aboard the _Skyfire._ That was a debt Greymane knew he owed his friend that he could never repay. His attempt at mentoring Anduin had, in his own fashion, also been the attempt at only the beginning of such repayment. After the young man had come to terms with the loss of his father and the leadership of the kingdom though, Genn had been proud of the kind of man and king the Legion war had forged him into, Warrior or not. He thought Varian would have been proud of him too, at least up until now.

 

“My lord, we shouldn't stay here much longer.” The Mage nearby addressed him.

 

“If anyone was going to ambush me, Gerald, they would have done so already.” Greymane responded, not lifting his head or turning to face him. “No, we're the only ones here. I doubt very much the Banshee Queen's cared much about Gilneas City since she discovered she couldn't use any of our bodies for her army. It's been a long time. Let me remember my son in peace.”

 

“Of course, my lord.” The Mage, Gerald responded.

 

One thing was for certain, Greymane would have to bring Anduin around to his line of thinking again, and soon. If Sylvanas was truly living again, that meant she could also be killed. More to the point, it meant that she could be hurt in many different ways, again, and again, and again.

 

That thought, more than any other, brought some consolation to the old king's heart.

 

* * *

 

The Slaughtered Lamb Tavern in Stormwind...

 

Jarel Moor stood at his place behind the bar cleaning a glass, a sour expression on his face. It was getting closer to sundown, and his regular customers would likely start showing up soon. His twin, dark haired braids stayed lifeless across his shoulders. His loose fitting white shirt, slightly stained here and there from his profession as a barkeep, was unlaced, exposing his relatively muscled and hairy chest. His leather breeches and boots looked somewhat shiny from wear. Unknown to most, once upon a time he had held a much different occupation. But war changes people, sometimes for the better, and sometimes... not so much. His eyes had seen far more than just mere war in his lifetime.

 

Most folks in Stormwind City would have sworn that he never saw any customers, and had no idea how he even kept his bar open. It didn't help that he never bothered to contradict that presumption. The clientele to which he did cater preferred it that way. Contrary to popular opinion, some people actually did come to him for a drink on occasion, hence the glasses needing a good cleaning. They just weren't the sort that preferred anyone else's company to their own, and so didn't stay long to socialize. That was just fine with him. His opinion of so-called intelligent life had dimmed over the years to where he wasn't entirely convinced it existed any more.

 

He finished wiping one glass out when a man in worn, midnight blue robes and cowled cloak stepped through the doorway. Jarel could see a short black stole adorned with silver runes hung about his neck under the cloak. Under the cowl, he could only see a gray beard and little else. From his outline and cloak though, Jarel knew he wasn't a regular. He stepped into the center of the tavern and appeared to be studying the open, empty space. He took in the various bottles on the bar itself, the casks behind it, the barkeep himself, and the tables across from him. Then the man appeared to spy the doorway down to the basement and proceeded to move towards it.

 

“I'd think twice before heading down there.” Jarel spoke up. “The basement's not for the faint of heart.”

 

The man paused for a moment before he withdrew his cowl. Long wisps of gray hair grew around his ears and the back of his head as though in resignation to the balding fate of the rest of it. His skin appeared deathly pale as he turned towards the barkeep. Jarel could see a kind of madness dancing in his pale gray eyes which was totally unlike the serious control and discipline of his usual customers. There was a kind of darkness about him that Jarel wasn't comfortable with either, and that was saying much given his usual clients.

 

“Isn't it?” The man answered in an accent the barkeep wasn't familiar with. “Strange. I was told all warlocks had faint hearts. Or perhaps it's the other way around, they cause hearts to faint. I do so often get that confused.”

 

Normally Jarel would shrug and wave the man on with a statement like that. The dark and demonic were the stock in trade of those who met regularly beneath _The Slaughtered Lamb_. But the man's accent bothered him because he didn't recognize it, and he had served drinks to fel magic users from all over Azeroth for a long, long time. There was also the strange dark aura around the man. It didn't feel like the “usual” demonic energy he encountered when the warlocks strode through his bar. This felt darker, unhinged, like you didn't know what outcome you were going to get.

 

“What business you got with them?” He asked.

 

“What business? What business indeed... It's business alright. Busy, busy all the time.” The strange man said this slowly, a certain menace in his voice that felt cold and calculating. “What business do you have here? Drinking business? Secret business? A business in secrets, yes? Good secrets, bad secrets, secrets everywhere hiding from the light. Secrets best left in the darkness I think, wouldn't you agree? Or maybe we should ask the patrol guard making his rounds outside what he thinks of business and secrets?”

 

Jarel blanched at the man, all the color draining from his face. “Go on then. It's your head down there anyway.”

 

“My head? Their heads too. All of our heads in fact.” The man returned as he pulled his cowl back up, and proceeded through the doorway down into the deep basement.

 

When he was gone, Jarel Moor pulled out a special bottle he kept under the bar for himself, and poured it into the glass he had just washed, his hands shaking as he did. He knocked back one and then poured himself another trying to steady his nerves at the dark robed man's appearance.

 

* * *

 

Deep in the Catacombs of Stormwind...

 

Gakin the Darkbinder stood eyes closed in the middle of a pentagram drawn in demon blood surrounded by candles of green, fel flame. His bald, tanned head perspired from his efforts. His crimson robed arms were held motionless, bent at the elbows in front of him in a supplicating position. A vortex of dark emerald energies surrounded his form as he chanted, pouring his mental focus into the words of the chant. He had been concentrating on a particularly difficult spell since much earlier in the morning, and his concentration had taxed him almost to his limits.

 

The shapely, seductive body of the succubus he had summoned and sacrificed for the spell still lay on the floor, her fel blood having been carefully collected into a chalice he had prepared for the ritual. Her name had been Sheyara, and she had been one of his particular favorites. She had been different in that he knew she had truly loved him, and would willingly give her life for him. She had done just that, the stain of her dying kiss still on his lips and streaked in his gray mustache and goatee. He had sipped of her powerful blood, made even more so by the sincere affection she had for him.

 

Power was all that mattered, and great power required great sacrifice.

 

This was a guiding principle of his order of Warlocks, and one which he taught to all of his initiates early on. If they were to follow the path of power, they had to purge themselves of all such concepts like good and evil, morality and immorality. They had to understand that such things were only illusions, and that the only true reality was power, and those too weak to seek it. Great power, if properly controlled, could be used to benefit, not only oneself, but all of society as long as that society had the vision and foresight to accept it.

 

Unfortunately, the human society of Stormwind rarely had such vision, and so his Order was forced to practice their arts in catacombs and basements far underground and out of the sight of those less enlightened to the true nature of things. They rarely understood that the goal of his discipline was not collaboration with demons, much less service to them, but domination over them for the Warlock's own ends. Sheyara understood that, he believed. She may have been resistant to him at first, all demons were, but in the end she understood she was only her master's tool to do with as he pleased. She was happy to give her life for him. Now, her life force flowed through his veins augmenting his own considerable abilities.

 

In his mind's eye he could see his goal. A Dreadlord of unusual size and power in the twisting nether. The Warlock's mind had been assaulted with promises of power, wealth, and anything he could want if he would only surrender to the demon lord. The strength of the being was enormous, and left uncontrolled the master Warlock was certain he could ravage the entire southeastern continent where Stormwind lay by himself.

 

 _No risk, no reward._ The Darkbinder smiled at the thought.

 

With the Dawn Event, Azeroth's Warlocks had been deprived of their chief source of demonic energies and servants. It was far easier to summon a demon that was already in Azeroth than it was to call it from another realm altogether. Not impossible, mind you, but the process was far more taxing and draining. It was even more so altogether the more powerful the demon one attempted to dominate. They were excellent players at the mind games as they sought to resist the Warlock and turn the tables.

 

This Dreadlord was particularly good at it. But then, so was Gakin.

 

The struggle had gone on for what felt like an eternity, but the Dreadlord was cracking, and the Warlock knew it. Soon, very soon, the demon would be his to command like a dog to its master. He was certain of it. And more importantly, the demon was certain of it too whether he realized it or not. He would come at Gakin's beck and call when this was done.

 

“ _I yield!!! Stop!!! I beg you!!! Stop!!!”_ The demon pleaded through the twisting nether. _“I will obey, I promise!!! Just stop!!!”_ If the Warlock hadn't known better, he would have sworn the demon had starting sobbing.

 

 _Pathetic._ The Warlock thought to himself. _Perhaps this one isn't what I had hoped for. Still, he may prove useful, and I'd hate to think dear Sheyara had given her life for nothing._

 

“You will come when I summon you.” He told the demon coldly. “Am I understood, slave?”

 

The Dreadlord responded without hesitation, _“Yes, Master Gakin.”_ Fear of the Warlock practically radiated through the nether. Gakin could taste it, and reveled.

 

The vortex then began to dissipate around him and the Warlock became aware of his surroundings once more. Then he became aware that he was not alone, but had attracted an audience of one. While there were many of his order who practiced their arts in these catacombs, the majority respected each other's space for the most part. This man, however, was strange to him.

 

“I don't know you.” Gakin told the stranger dismissively. “And I don't care to. State your business and then leave.”

 

The man's expression was neutral as he observed the master Warlock intently.

 

“I was told I might find a man who understood the true nature of power here. Perhaps I was wrong.” The stranger finally said, his accent strange to the Warlock. “I had assumed he might be looking for an ally given the state of the world lately. The light appears to be shining so brightly that some of us aren't as welcome as we once were to those in power.”

 

“We have never been truly _welcome_ , but the king has always recognized our necessity.” Gakin responded, feeling the shadow radiating off of the man. “I can imagine that it has become far more uncomfortable for the Shadow Priesthood.”

 

“The Light has risen, and the Darkness must rise to meet it.” The Shadow Priest replied.

 

Gakin looked at the man, trying to understand what he was driving at, and what he wanted. He had never been contacted before like this by one of the priestly Conclave of any denomination. They tended to have very different philosophical outlooks even if their goals ran in the same direction.

 

“I have heard rumors of the priests in the Cathedral losing their ability to heal. A worker was injured the other day and the high clergy there could barely keep him alive. The Paladins too. They've all looked a little lost lately.” He replied. “But that's not my concern, or the concern of my Order. You people rely on the benevolence of your divine light or darkness, or gods, or whatever. The Warlock relies on no one else but himself and his own power.” Gakin told him. “We take our power when we choose. We don't wait for anything to give it to us.”

 

“The Void is ultimate power. It is power even the Light cannot fully contain.” The Shadow Priest replied. “What is the mere trifle of a demon's power compared to the all consuming eternal Shadow itself? There is a void rising among the priests and Paladins of Stormwind. There is a common enemy which has risen that is a threat to both our disciplines, if not to the whole of our world. It has already made the first move against us, and will not stop until it has destroyed us entirely. The Light is rising and has established its kingdom here on Azeroth. We must strike back from the shadows and strike hard if we are to survive. We are stronger together than on our own.”

 

Gakin considered his words. Warlocks were philosophically self-reliant. They only banded together rarely, and that to enhance their own powers first. But the Warlocks had not been the only practitioners making use of the fel for their own purposes. The Demon Hunters had taken a similar, but far more invasive approach to using the Demonic powers against the Legion. But there were no Demon Hunters left on Azeroth as he had heard. The same was true of the undead and the Death Knights. The Light, if it was the Light, had purged all of them along with any remaining Legion forces the Warlocks might have subdued and drawn from. There had been much discussion among the Council of the Black Harvest about what that portended for them as well. The conversation had been gloomy and concerning to everyone present. This new world was an unknown for them.

 

“What do you propose?” The Warlock asked him.

 

The Shadow Priest smiled. A shiver ran through Gakin's whole body when he did.

 

 

* * *

 

Light's Hope Chapel in Eastern Lordaeron...

 

A long table had been set in the tiny, old white church. Candles, a tablecloth, and dinnerware stretched across it along with several dishes of food and bottles of wine, all of which had been contributed by the Order of the Silver Hand. The Highlord, having understood how much depended on it, had made it a point to do everything within his power to see the success of the historic diplomatic venture being undertaken. Both parties, Horde and Alliance, had distinguished and honorable members within his Order's ranks. They had fought and bled together, and had become a kind of family together. A major conflict between the two great powers would see that family torn apart, and he would do anything within his power to keep that from happening.

 

As the host of the talks, the Highlord sat at the head of the table, the faction representatives equally balanced to his right and left. Next to him on his right sat Maxwell Tyrosus, the lord of the Argent Crusade. On his left sat the Matriarch of the Sindorei Blood Knight Paladins, Lady Liadrin. Next to Lord Tyrosus sat Vindicator Boros, and then the venerable Draenei Prophet Velen, and then the young King Anduin Wrynn of Stormwind with Muradin Bronzebeard at his right hand. Opposite these sat the Sunwalker Chieftain, Aponi Brightmane, Lor'themar Theron the Regent Lord of Silvermoon, and finally the Warchief of the Horde, Sylvanas Windrunner with her own Champion, Nathanos Marris at her left.

 

The change in these last two representatives, though of course the Highlord had heard of it, was nothing short of shocking to the veteran Paladin. He himself had engaged Nathanos in battle alongside Genn Greymane during a less than sanctioned clandestine operation in the Legion war. The man's undead skin was gray and lifeless then, his eyes a burning red and joyless. He had been little more than an efficient killing machine in the Highlord's opinion then.

 

The man in front of him was like someone he had never met. His skin was a healthy tanned, and there was a healthy luster to his hair. There was a humor and a joy in his eyes, and they sparkled with an affection the skilled marksman couldn't hide for the elven woman who sat next to him. For this meeting, he wore a lighter colored leather jacket and tailored, forest green shirt which complemented his eyes.

 

And then there was the elven Lady who had come with him. The Warchief of the Horde sat radiant opposite her much younger Alliance counterpart. “Radiant” was the only word the Highlord could think of to describe her. She was another that he had, during the Legion war, fought against alongside the lord of Gilneas as a soldier of Stormwind before his formal ascension to Highlord of the Silver Hand. He had been there when the Banshee Queen had attempted to enslave the Mistress of the Lightborn Val'kyr, Eyir, and had watched as she planted an arrow in Genn Greymane's shoulder before he destroyed her plans entirely. He had also been there in Helheim itself to learn of the pact she had made with Helya.

 

His mind kept insisting at first what his eyes were refusing to acknowledge, that this was the same woman. And then as the talks commenced, the doubts in his mind to that fact grew tenfold.

 

The light virtually glistened off of her platinum golden hair, and the weight of her station among her people seemed tempered now with the same joy he had seen in her consort. She wore a sapphire blue ranger's hood which had been drawn back to reveal the lines of her feminine elven face in full. Her cheeks and skin were flush with life, and she smiled frequently, it seemed, especially when she stole glances at Nathanos. There was still the look of responsibility and struggle in her exquisite blue eyes, and a regal quality about her that couldn't be denied. She appeared in every way the queen of her people, and conducted herself so.

 

The Alliance representatives were just as shocked as the Highlord upon seeing her enter the chapel at first, so much so that the dwarf lord, Muradin Bronzebeard exclaimed, “Now, wai' just a minute there! How d' we know this isna' some kind o' trick or glamour spell?”

 

Neither the Forsaken queen nor her consort seem to have been fazed by the question, and even appeared to be expecting it. They looked at each other with some resignation to the response, some unspoken communication passing between them. Sylvanas herself said nothing, but drew a small dagger from her belt, and then drew the razor sharp edge of the blade along her feminine elven hand, producing a trickle of deep red, healthy blood which dripped to the floor.

 

“Is this proof enough for you dwarf, or does my Champion need to bleed for you as well?” She then replied to him.

 

“That's enough, Muradin.” Anduin had then authoritatively stepped in and between them.

 

“Here, let me see that.” The Alliance king had offered to the warchief of the Horde, holding out his own right hand with a concerned but wary look in his eyes which no longer appeared as young as they should have.

 

When she had hesitantly stretched out her injured left hand to him, he held his own over it and called on the Light to heal it. A warm golden glow wrapped his own hand as he passed it over hers and the gash in the palm of her skin closed and healed completely.

 

There has been no look of pain, discomfort, or ill effects of any kind when Anduin had used his own ability as a Holy Priest to heal her as there certainly would have been were she undead. Instead, a look of thanks was in her eyes to the golden haired King of Stormwind for his act of compassion.

 

Sylvanas had then looked at the dwarf again, whose expression, though not chastised, was less antagonistic. “Satisfied that I have a beating heart?” She then asked him.

 

“Aye, lass. For now.” Muradin had replied, nodding his head. “Were ye expectin' Anduin to heal yer hand as proof?” He then asked with a curious tone.

 

“No.” Sylvanas replied. “But I... appreciate that he did.” She had then nodded to Stormwind's monarch who then gave a short gentlemanly bow.

 

They had all taken their seats at the table, where Sylvanas and Nathanos appeared to eat with more gusto than the Highlord would have thought possible, savoring every bite of the relatively plain meal of roasted quail, Stormwind Brie, salad, wine from Dalaran, and cherry pie. If there had been any doubts of their living bodies before, there were none by the end. Magic could only conceal so much. Every facade had its limits, and this was no facade.

 

At the beginning of the meal, and much to the surprise of many, Sylvanas had not wanted to discuss troop drawdowns and conflict resolution. Instead, she and Nathanos spent a good deal of time relating what they knew of the man they both called “the teacher” up to and including her own eye witness account of his self-resurrection after three days, a feat the Highlord would have believed impossible had the stories not been corroborated earlier in the week by workers from Lordaeron, common folk, who had come to assist in the supply distribution alongside the Silver Hand's own charity. They had gone farther to report Jeshua's ascension into the sky and his disappearance in an explosion of light across the sky. There had been much the Highlord had believed impossible only a few months before which this man Jeshua had turned on its ear.

 

And then she surprised everyone on the Alliance side of the table when she said, “I made a promise to Jeshua before he left. My people and I owe so much more than our living bodies to him. It is a debt none of us, including myself, can repay in full, but I am here to begin to try, and to fulfill that promise. When he taught, he often described what he called a 'Kingdom of Light', the start of which I believe occurred with the New Dawn. We in Lordaeron... _I_ have hated Stormwind and the Alliance for their abandonment after the Lich King's depravations. We hated you for your betrayal of us and attempts to steal our lands rather than help us as the allies we thought you would be. There is still an anger and a resentment towards you among all of us.”

 

At these statements, Muradin Bronzebeard in particular let his eye fall to his lap, a strange look on his face. Anduin and Velen said nothing. Neither had been on Azeroth during those early days after the third war, Velen and his people only having crash landed in the Exodar a decade later, and Anduin only having been born within that same decade after those events.

 

Sylvanas continued, “But Jeshua taught us, taught me, that the only way to truly live and follow the Light's teachings is to forgive and leave the past in the past. From what he taught, in order for this Kingdom of Light to move forwards and be realized, it is time for this conflict between the Alliance and the Horde to end, once and for all. As Warchief of the Horde, I am here to begin this process.”

 

Looks of disbelief and skepticism were etched into the faces of Anduin and Muradin, although Velen appeared to be more pensive, stroking his beard as he considered her words.

 

“If true, that would be welcome indeed.” Anduin replied after some time of stunned silence. “We have tried many times in the past to achieve this, and someone, somewhere has derailed it. If you are truly sincere then I would glad to take the Horde's hand, if not yet in friendship, then at least in a mutual understanding of the desire for peace. But in order for it to move forward legitimately, we would need the agreements of all the leaders of the Alliance including Tyrande Whisperwind, Mechatorque, and, need I add, Genn Greymane.”

 

At the Gilnean lord's name, the Highlord could feel the temperature around the Horde representatives drop dramatically. Sylvanas' expression became neutral as she struggled to contain what was an obvious anger at the man's name. To her credit, she only responded, “Of course. And we will want to bring the rest of our leadership as well. I do not expect this to be the only talks we have on the subject.”

 

“And your request for Lord Greymane's 'extradition'?” Anduin pressed, studying the beautiful elf queen's face intently, trying to read her expressions.

 

Sylvanas took a breath and paused before she answered, looking Anduin dead in the eye, “I withdraw it. This agreement is more important than that.”

 

“Why'd ye have yer ambassador make a fuss about it, then?” Muradin then asked, his own expression curious.

 

“I found Jeshua's dead body nailed to a door, a sign above it declaring that I had ordered it. I shot the two Worgen responsible with my own bow. Greymane and I have... a history. It was not hard to put the pieces together.” She answered. “Jeshua had done nothing to deserve the death he received, and had given us everything. I wanted justice for him.”

 

“And now?” Anduin asked her.

 

“After his resurrection, he told me he wanted me to forgive Greymane and let it go. I told him I would try. Is that enough of a reason for you?” She told him, clearly struggling with it.

 

“It is for me.” Velen then spoke up. He then said, “I too spoke with Jeshua. I can very much believe you did too, and that he asked this of you.”

 

“There are many within Stormwind however that won't believe you.” Anduin then said in a matter-of-fact, almost sad tone. “Before coming here, I was approached by Bishop Marcus, Lord Shadowbreaker, and several of the Cathedral's clergy urging me to not believe anything I saw while here. They are convinced that all of this is some kind of necromancy and dark magic.”

 

The Highlord then spoke up, “The Silver Hand is aware of these accusations, your majesty. I can assure you that they are patently false. Lord Tyrosus' men have been interacting regularly with the reborn and resurrected running food and supplies, and there is no taint of the shadow anywhere among them. Not like what we would have seen if it was as they are accused. And as for Lord Shadowbreaker, he no longer numbers among the Order of the Silver Hand. The Light has withdrawn from him on its own.”

 

“That is not a surprise.” Lady Liadrin then added out loud.

 

“Lord Shadowbreaker has always been an honest and compassionate man, a dedicated servant of the Holy Light.” Anduin then spoke up, shocked at the news. “Why should the Light have withdrawn from him?”

 

“Are you not aware of his request to our Order, supposedly from Stormwind?” The Highlord asked.

 

“What request?” Anduin asked omniously, with sincere confusion in his voice. “This is the first I have heard of it.”

 

“Under the circumstances, your majesty, perhaps we should discuss this in private.” The Highlord responded, seeing the concerned and uncertain expressions on the delegates' faces.

 

“What request, Paladin?” Sylvanas then asked, trying to read both his face, and those of the other Paladins present as they looked to one another knowingly. “What did he ask you to do?”

 

“Yes. I would like to know right now as well. What request did he make in Stormwind's name? In _my_ name, for that matter?” Anduin insisted from the Highlord.

 

“Lord Shadowbreaker came to us with the request that we join Stormwind's forces in purging the newly resurrected town of Darrowshire with Holy Fire. He and those backing him believed, as your majesty has just informed us, that the mass resurrection which had appeared to occur was a fraud and that those innocent people of the town were Scourge hidden with glamour spells. We rejected the request outright. Yesterday, he attempted to come here to make the same request again, but was unable to summon the Holy Light to enter our Sanctum. The Light itself had refused him.”

 

The look of horror which appeared on Anduin's face was no less genuine than the intense anger which darkened Sylvanas'. Sylvanas' eyes turned toward Anduin, wordlessly demanding answers from the young, handsome king who had risen from his seat visibly shaken and now stood behind it with his hand to his face before turning to face his Horde counterpart.

 

Anduin spoke first, “I swear to you, I knew nothing of this, and certainly gave no authorization for an Alliance attack anywhere in the Plaguelands, much less on defenseless villagers.”

 

“Aye, no one told us nothin' 'bout it neither.” Muradin spoke up as well. “'N they'd have to be marchin' through Khaz Modan if they'd be comin' from Stormwind. If they had, both Moira 'n meself would have told them to piss off. I'll no' have innocent blood on Ironforge's hands.”

 

“This is news to me as well. Tell me, did he say who the request had come from?” Velen asked the Highlord.

 

The Highlord took a breath and let it out wearily, looking to his fellow Paladins for support. “The request had come from Bishop Marcus and Lord Greymane. We never believed it would have come from your majesty, Anduin.”

 

Anduin's own face darkened with the anger and betrayal he felt at the mention of Genn's name. He turned towards the Paladin and said, “I can't believe it. I can't believe Genn would go so far... And Marcus has been a respected cleric of the Light all of his life.”

 

“I can only tell you what transpired here, your majesty.” The Highlord replied somberly.

 

“I will have answers from them.” Anduin then turned and told the Horde Warchief across from him sincerely. “I will not allow this to go unresolved. I give you my word. As long as I am king, and the Horde keeps to its own, Stormwind will _never_ send soldiers into Lordaeron to molest its people again.”

 

Sylvanas, seeing the sincerity etched on his face nodded. She then asked, “So, do we have an agreement to begin the peace process?”

 

Anduin looked to his dwarven and Draenei companions on either side of him who both nodded in response. “We do.” He replied. “As far as I am concerned, the conflict between Stormwind and the Und...” He then quickly corrected himself, “Lordaeron is over right here and right now.” He then looked towards Lor'themar Theron, the regent lord of Silvermoon in Quel'Thalas, and added, “And Silvermoon as well if you are agreed, Regent Lord.”

 

The elven lord nodded towards him, but said nothing.

 

“We are agreed, then.” Sylvanas responded.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 

In Elwynn Forest...

 

Miriam Davidson sat on an overturned crate up against the side of her family's house that evening as the sun was halfway down in the west. Her own sea green eyes were staring past the family's garden and into the forest beyond. Her strawberry blond hair had come out of the loose bun she had tied it up in and much of it hung loosely around her shoulders. Her pretty features, pensive and distant as they were at the moment, might have been comparable to a woman of the High Elves, as much as any human woman could lay the claim to it that is. The large plot for growing the family's vegetables in front of her had been let to lie fallow for the southern province's impending, mild winter and it resembled a barren wasteland of rich brown soil, dead greens, and a few weeds here and there that would ultimately rot and end up fertilizing the ground when she and her daughter worked it in the spring. Her husband and two sons were once more in Stormwind, but she and Sarah had elected to stay behind this time. It was the eighth day in a row that they had.

 

The truth was she didn't know how to process all that had happened to her and Joseph concerning her oldest son in the last few months. And she couldn't bring herself to enter Stormwind again. Not yet, not with what was being said about him.

 

It had been more than a week since Jeshua's final visit to them in Joseph's furniture shop. In that week they had heard marvelous, fantastic stories of whole landscapes across Azeroth being changed overnight, and whole populations of undead being replaced by living breathing humans like herself. Rumors flew as to what had happened, how it had happened, or even if it really had happened. Some swore it was a miracle like Azeroth had never seen, others swore just as vehemently that it was all a trick. Disturbingly, many of Stormwind's more prominent clergy appeared to believe it was all some kind of dark hoax meant to steer the faithful off of the true path of the Light. Stormwind's Church of Light had all but rejected her son as a fraud and worse. She couldn't look those priests in the eye anymore, not without anger and hurt.

 

Miriam knew for certain what had happened to the world, and they didn't no matter what they said. Jeshua had told her what had happened before he left them for the last time. He had died and come back from the dead, and then he left to be with his sire. In the process of it all, he had changed the face of their world forever.

 

Incredible though it was, she hadn't doubted her son's words in the slightest. He had never lied to her as a boy, and though he could have as a man, he didn't even when his truth had hurt her deeply. For that reason alone, it really wasn't that hard to believe actually, not for her anyway.

 

What _was_ hard was listening to priests and bishops that she had respected not long ago talk about her son like he was the Lich King reborn. Many, many choice profane words ran through the devout woman's mind about the Cathedral's clergy lately, though she had not yet resorted to using them. It was, perhaps, one of the reasons why she had elected to remain home rather than go to the city.

 

Joseph had not been so generous with a priest who had entered his shop the other day. Her husband had told her about the incident before bed last night. Apparently the priest hadn't realized who Jeshua was to the master carpenter and had spoken openly of him in a bad way. Miriam might have even smiled at the thought of the clergyman learning a few new profanities from her husband if it hadn't hurt so much, and if Joseph hadn't been so angry even then.

 

“Seek out my followers...” That was what Jeshua told them to do before he disappeared again.

 

Miriam had ruminated and struggled on his last words to them both since he spoke them. She hadn't wanted to talk to complete strangers about him, she had wanted him home with his family. As far as she knew, all of those people she had seen with him were in the north. The last time she had seen them, they were all in the fortified town called Hearthglen with him. But it wasn't such a hard stretch to think that if he had gone to what had been Lordaeron's capital city, into the heart of the Forsaken, they had gone with him. That was where she had been told he had died by the kind Draenei messenger from that people's ancient prophet. That had been the day before Jeshua had walked into Joseph's shop.

 

She had tried to be strong when she had heard the news of his death, accepting it outwardly at least, and hoping that he had finally found some kind of peace in his mission. In her heart, she had known what he was doing could only end one way with the powerful people who had taken an interest in him, and she had resigned herself to it. She had loved her son, but he had insisted that she let him finish his work and not hold on to him, and she had tried. It tore her up inside, but she had walked away and returned home when he told her to.

 

All that outward strength however completely dissolved when she saw him alive again herself. She had cried that day when she saw him. She had cried almost every day since. She would have cried there now, sitting on the old wooden crate that he had sat on the day he left them, except that she had few tears left to cry any more.

 

 _He wanted us to find his followers._ The thought turned over and over again in her mind. _He wanted us to get to know him through them. Why? Why should we have to get to know him through perfect strangers? The Draenei woman seemed nice enough, I suppose, but I'm his mother. I just don't understand._

 

Off to her right, the creaking sounds of her husband's cart and the clip clop of the horses could be heard coming down the dirt pathway from the main highway. She hadn't realized what time it was becoming as she was brought out of her thoughts and into the present. She hadn't seen the shadows and the darkness of the evening falling over the forest that had been her home for nearly twenty years.

 

 _I didn't make anything for supper!_ She then did realize with a start, rising quickly and heading into the house to see what might be available to throw together quickly. _I should have started cooking hours ago!_ She began berating herself until the savory odors of bread and stew coming from the kitchen in the house hit her nostrils.

 

 _What? How?_ She asked herself in confusion.

 

A girlish voice called out the side kitchen door cheerily, “Supper's ready, Mama!”

 

Miriam came into the kitchen of the house to find some loaves of simple spice bread, still warm from the oven, placed on the table, and a blackened pot of meaty stew hanging over the cooking fire. Her nine year old daughter, Sarah, had just removed some cooking mitts from her hands and was setting the table with fire glazed ceramic bowls and the well used silver utensils that had been given to them as wedding presents before Sarah's older brothers had been born.

 

 _How much time has passed? I was only outside for a few minutes, wasn't I?_ Miriam thought to herself.

 

“Sarah? You did all this?” She then asked her daughter, guilt heavy in her voice. “I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I should've...”

 

“It's okay, Mama. You were thinking about Jeshua again.” The girl responded. “I understand. I wanted to help when I saw it was getting later.”

 

Miriam crossed the kitchen over to her daughter and held her in a deep embrace. “Thank you. You shouldn't have had to do this.” She told her.

 

“I wanted to make supper for you and Daddy, Mama.” Sarah replied. “And I made it all by myself!”

 

“Yes, you did.” Miriam told her, trying not to visibly cringe at what Sarah obviously felt proud of. She had Sarah help her cook frequently in the past, so her daughter's ability shouldn't have surprised her, but it made her feel horrible as a mother that the bright nine year old had to do it at all.

 

“Are we going to do what he said? Are we going to find his followers?” The girl then asked her mother out of the blue. “Is that why you were thinking for so long, to figure out how?”

 

Miriam had forgotten Sarah had been there too when he had appeared to them. Their whole family had seen him walk into the furniture shop in the Trade District of Stormwind alive but with vicious holes pounded through his wrists, and fresh wounds visible across his forehead from something equally vicious. He looked like he had suffered horribly but had come through it.

 

“I...” Miriam didn't have an answer for her daughter. The truth was it wasn't something she'd _wanted_ to do, and had been rebelling against since her oldest son's appearance. “I don't know. I think they're very far north, in Lordaeron. I don't even know if we _can_ go there.”

 

“I'd like to see Lordaeron. It's supposed to be huge with so much history there! I've read about it a lot in the books from the Library. I wonder if it's like Stormwind at all.” Sarah said.

 

“I think it used to be before the third war, but...” Miriam replied, a growing sense of unease about that topic rising within her. There were a myriad of reasons why she did _not_ want to go to Lordaeron at all, the least of them being her reluctance to learn about her son from someone else. She tried to think of a way to change the subject when her husband and two sons, Jimmy and Joseph Junior came into the family's kitchen and eating place.

 

The look on her husband's face was tired. Fresh lines of worry and anger were evident in his expression. It took a great deal to make her husband angry, even more to make him stay visibly angry all the way from Stormwind City to their house not far from Goldshire. Her two teenage boys had distant, angered looks in their expressions as well, very different from the generally friendly, hardworking young men she knew and loved. She had never seen her seventeen year old Jimmy with the dark look on her face, silent as he was.

 

He tried to give her a smile, but it was weak as though he would have trouble smiling about anything for a while. She waited for him to say something, though from his expression, she had an instinct about what had happened, again.

 

“Brother Kristoff stopped by the shop again. He brought Bishop Marcus with him to speak to me about my 'questions of faith.' Apparently, I am sorely in need of repentance for not renouncing our son.” He told her, his voice controlled but she could hear the anger flaring again. “I've never thought myself that religious, Miriam, but even I know when a Priest is full of it, much less a Bishop. The man swore up and down that Jeshua was some kind of void crazed demoniac. I know I didn't know him as well in the last few years, but you'd think I would know what kind of man I raised or tried to raise.”

 

Her two boys remained silent, but she could see their anger visibly as they clenched their fists at the memory. They had been much younger when Jeshua had left. Jimmy had been a nine year old, and had looked up to his brother, that is, when he wasn't pestering him like all little brothers seem to. But Jeshua had never seemed to get angry with either him or Joseph Jr. no matter what pranks they tried to play on him.

 

“The Bishop said that?” Miriam asked.

 

“Something close. You talked with him up there in Hearthglen. Was that the kind of man you met with? Did he seem like some dark sorcerer to you?” Joseph asked her, already sure of the answer.

 

“No.” She told him, remembering the painful conversation she had with her oldest son. “No, he didn't, and the people he was with weren't those kind either. The soldiers there had nothing but good things to say about him and his followers except for how crowded it had gotten when they arrived.”

 

Joseph took a deep breath, rubbed his face in his hands, and sighed before noticing the food on the table. “Thanks for dinner, sweetheart.” He told Miriam. “I know it's been tough.”

 

“Sarah made it tonight.” Miriam responded, gesturing to their daughter who had been quiet up till that point.

 

Joseph then turned his gaze towards his youngest, “You did?” He asked, some of his smile returning. “It smells great, Sarah.”

 

“Thank you, Daddy!” Sarah beamed at him.

 

Joseph then sat down at the table and the others followed suit. He then passed his bowl to Miriam who went and ladled some of Sarah's stew into it before passing it back to her husband, and repeated until she was filling her own bowl before sitting down.

 

Her husband paused, before taking another deep breath, letting it out slowly and saying, “After the clerics came into the shop, I went and talked to Dad for a while before the boys and I headed home. He thought maybe we should just keep the shop closed tomorrow, and the next few days too until the Priests forget about us.” Joseph told her before taking a chunk of the bread, soaking it in the stew, and putting it in his mouth to chew. “Dad said he'd heard some talk of trouble at the Cathedral, something about the Priests not being able to heal like they used to. He thought they'd forget about us soon enough with their own troubles.”

 

“Why don't we do what Jeshua said? Why don't we go try and find his followers?” Sarah spoke up to her father. “If we're not going back to Stormwind for a while anyways?”

 

The table then went completely silent for about a full minute before her mother responded. “I already told you, Sarah,...”

 

Joseph then sighed again before he said to Sarah in response, “I can't say the thought hasn't crossed my mind, to be honest, sweetheart.”

 

“You can't?” Miriam then asked him, stunned.

 

“Honestly, no. Jeshua did something, and by all accounts it was something extraordinary, and I never got to see it, Miriam. You were able to see him up there in Hearthglen, but the kids and I didn't. I can't say I wasn't angry at him for years, but I never stopped loving him. I never stopped wanting him to come home. I never got to see what kind of man he became, or what kind of work he was doing. It had to be something remarkable, and I was never able to see it. I wanted to get to know him. When he told us to find his followers, I started trying to think of a way to do just that, but we still had the shop, and we still had our responsibilities here, and it's not like we can just drive the cart up into Lordaeron what with having to cross the Steppes, not to mention the Gorge and the Badlands. I thought maybe we could take the tram to Ironforge, but then we'd be on foot all the way up there unless we could hire enough gryphons to for all five of us, and I've never flown on one and don't even know how. There aren't any ships that even make port up there that are friendly to the Alliance, none that would be safe for you and the kids at any rate. I just can't see any practical or safe way for all of us to get there.” He told her plainly.

 

“You didn't tell me you were trying to.” She replied quietly.

 

“I didn't want to bring it up until I was certain how to do it. I knew you were already having a bad time of it, and I didn't want to make it worse for you.” Joseph told her. “I'm sorry. I loved him too.”

 

“I know you did.” She answered.

 

“What about Mama's friend? The Draenei man that took her there before?” Sarah asked innocently. “Maybe he could find someone to take all of us there.”

 

Joseph was about to reply, but then sat back in his seat thoughtfully stroking his beard with his fingers.

 

“Oh, Sarah. The Prophet Velen is a great man. He's the ruler of his people like King Wrynn is our ruler. I don't even know how to contact him, and even if I did...” Miriam trailed off not sure what to say next. The idea of a commoner like herself even assuming she could have that kind of rapport with such a figure was impossible to her.

 

“I suppose it couldn't hurt to try.” Joseph finally responded.

 

“You aren't serious, Joseph?” Miriam replied. “Are you?”

 

“If he hasn't gone back home yet, he might still be staying at the Keep with his guards. If he's not there, or they won't deliver a message to him, then that's that. If he is there, the worst he could say is 'no', and we wouldn't be any worse off than we are.”

 

“Well, I suppose.” Miriam answered, sensing defeat. She felt a pit forming in her stomach, but somewhere inside of her, she knew it was the right way to go in spite of how it made her feel. It felt like, once more, her world was being turned upside down just like it had been twenty years before when Jeshua was born.

 

* * *

 

In Stormwind City the next day...

 

The Prophet Velen, standing on the grass in the atrium of Stormwind Keep overlooking the pond and lake to the north, was increasingly disturbed by what he was hearing in the human city since his return from Light's Hope Chapel with his former student and Stormwind's rightful monarch, Anduin Wrynn. He had returned briefly to the Exodar by portal to confer with his own people's council on the outcome of the meeting before another Mage there opened a portal for him back to Stormwind, feeling that his presence in the human capital and support of the young Alliance king at the moment was more important under the circumstances. The ancient cleric was wise enough to know that what happened in Stormwind would reverberate throughout the Alliance and across Azeroth.

 

There was no question in his mind that Sylvanas Windrunner and Nathanos Marris were living breathing beings now. Whoever and whatever they might have been before seemed to have been washed away. Her demonstration by shedding her own blood and Anduin's use of the Light to heal her was proof enough for him. Added to this was their general demeanor and expressions during the meeting—he had never seen one of the undead act in such a way.

 

There was also no question in the Draenei prophet's mind as to what or who was responsible for it. His own respect for the young human healer, and he was so much more than that, had done nothing but grow since his conversation with him. The effects of his miraculous healing on them as well as on the former plaguelands had nearly brought tears to the old man's eyes upon seeing them. After twenty five thousand years, he knew the work of the Light when he saw it and experienced it and this was no less. In spite of his recent struggles with the Holy Light, it was still an old friend with whom he was intimately familiar, and whom, through the man Jeshua, had reached out to him to heal and restore his own heart and mind.

 

Velen found that he himself believed in Jeshua. _How can I not?_ He had asked himself.

 

From what he had been hearing had been circulating among the clergy in Stormwind, that fact put him increasingly in opposition to the humans' Church of Light. Their High Priestess Laurena, when he had spoken to her in private upon returning to Stormwind from the Exodar, had not given him welcome information.

 

Upon seeing him in the Cathedral, she had quickly gestured for him to follow her alone into a side chamber and then closed the heavy wooden door behind them. The expression on her face was a mask that could barely conceal the real concerns that were creeping up.

 

She told him about the incident with the injured worker. She also told him of dozens of more incidents regarding Stormwind's clergy and Paladins being unable to call upon the Light to heal or do anything.

 

“I have never seen anything like it in my lifetime.” She had told him. “It feels like the Holy Light is simply refusing to cooperate with us. I'm ashamed to admit my own faith has been badly shaken, and I know the faith of others has been too. I have spoken with the High Priest of the Conclave, and his holiness does not know what to make of it either..”

 

Her expression then changed to something approaching fear and scandal when she told him, “Some of our clergy have even been resorting to calling upon the Shadow. We of course have never fully forbidden it, though we have never encouraged it. Your experience with the Light is far older than all of ours combined. Perhaps you know why this may be happening?”

 

He had been just as stunned as she was at her confession. Faith in the Light was key to the Priest's unique abilities, and he knew Laurena's faith to be as strong as any human's except for, perhaps, the High Priest of the Conclave.

 

“This began a few days ago?” He asked her, trying to make sense of it himself.

 

“Yes, not long after the so called 'dawn event'.” She confirmed. “Though much of my clergy refuse to even acknowledge that it even happened. Bishop Marcus has most of our people convinced that it is all an illusion that will dispel any day.”

 

Wheels started to turn in Velen's aged mind. “And you, what do you think about it?”

 

“I don't know what to think. I'd like to think it was real. It would be wonderful if it was.” She answered honestly.

 

“And what do you think about the man who caused it, Jeshua?” He then asked.

 

Laurena then looked from one side of the room to the other, and then to the heavy wooden door to ensure that it was shut completely.

 

“I don't know. Marcus came to me some time ago and asked me to censure him, which of course I couldn't as he wasn't one of ours. If he was the same Jeshua Davidson that I knew as a boy, I would have a very difficult time believing him a servant of the shadow, the fel, death, or any other dark force. He was a bright, intelligent, thoughtful boy. Bishop Farthing and I invited him to apprentice with us directly when he came of age, but he disappeared before that could happen.” She told him. “People change, but that boy was always so full of the Light I would have sworn I could feel it radiating off of him.”

 

“I spoke to him and to his mother. I went to Hearthglen to see for myself.” Velen had then told her. “He was indeed the son of Miriam Davidson. I saw the restored plaguelands in the north around Light's Hope Chapel. I saw with my own eyes a woman who had once been a walking corpse bleed living blood and be healed by the Light with no ill effects.”

 

Laurena's face then twisted in a range of complex emotions. When she spoke again, her voice was low, “It is becoming more and more dangerous, even for me, to hold a positive opinion of Jeshua or the Dawn Event within the Cathedral, especially in public. Marcus has made certain of it. I could expel him, but that would stop nothing at this point. Any public defense of Jeshua or his work now would compromise my position among the Priesthood, and then there would be no one to stand in the way of this... this Shadow that seems to be rising here.”

 

Velen had thought much of her latter words then, _this Shadow that is rising here_.

 

At one time it had appeared that the Shadow and the Light had existed in an uneasy truce on Azeroth, called upon by clergy from all denominations at some point in time. Even the demonic fel appeared to be able to be commanded by those with noble intents as he had eventually understood with Illidan Stormrage. But as Velen stood in Stormwind's atrium considering what he had heard, it came to him that Jeshua and his work had shattered that truce, and Jeshua himself, his mere presence, was forcing all of them to take sides in a way that they hadn't been pushed to before and with results that none of them would have expected.

 

Who would have expected the Banshee Queen to be a passionate supporter of the Lightborn? She had informed them before they had all parted that she had even taken the extreme step of expelling all Shadow Priests from Lordaeron's borders. And yet he had heard her words with his own Draenei ears, and had seen the passion in her expression when talking about what Jeshua had done for her and her people. She had chosen her side, and so apparently had the clergy of Stormwind, and the world had been turned upside down overnight.

 

 _I need to speak with Alonsus Faol._ Velen thought to himself. _He has seen both sides in his existence with a perspective I do not have._ He had not spoken with the undead bishop or returned to Netherlight Temple since the fall of the Burning Legion on Argus. He did not know even if he was still undead, or if he too had been caught in the Dawn Event in some way.

 

“My lord?” A human voice distracted him from his thoughts.

 

Velen opened his eyes from his internal meditations and turned to see a human woman dressed in the heavy plate armor, blue cloak, and lion insignias of one of Stormwind Keep's many guards and soldiers.

 

“Yes?” Velen responded, turning his aged eredar eyes towards her.

 

“There is a commoner woman in the hall with a young man asking to speak with you. She says she knows you.” The soldier told him.

 

“Did she give a name?” Velen asked her, curious.

 

“She did, my lord. She said her name was Miriam Davidson.” The armor clad woman responded.

 

 _His mother is here?_ Of course he remembered the human mother whom he so recently had tracked down to discover the truth of Jeshua's origins.

 

Velen, upon hearing the name of the woman, himself turned around completely to face the hall which led back into the Keep, though he saw no one from where he was standing.

 

“Should I send her away, my lord?” The soldier asked.

 

“No!” Velen responded. “No, please bring her here along with whoever came with her.”

 

“Right away, my lord.” The woman replied, stiffly turning around and moving to carry out his wishes.

 

 _I can't imagine any of this has been easy on her and her family. It will become harder quickly if it hasn't already._ He thought to himself. Matters of state and faith had preoccupied his mind to where, though he had not forgotten the Davidsons, they had been pushed out of his mind. Now that they were there again, the conversation with Laurena had returned to his mind and he realized that they now might be in danger too if they didn't see things Marcus' way.

 

The soldier returned a few minutes later escorting a thirty something year old woman in a white blouse and plain blue dress. She was accompanied by a young human man, more of a boy still, with darker brown locks and the wisps of facial hair common to adolescents. His arms were muscled and his hands were calloused as though he was used to working with them. He wore a yellow plaid flannel shirt and blue woolen pants tied with a plain leather belt. His sea green eyes were like his mother's, and, Velen realized, like his brother's.

 

“Thank you for troubling to see us, your imminence. I understand your time must be very valuable.” The woman told him deferentially.

 

“It is no trouble, Mrs. Davidson. This must be another of your sons.” Velen responded, intentionally avoiding the use of Jeshua's name in so public a setting. “He is a good looking young man, for a human.”

 

Jimmy Davidson looked confused at first, and then smirked at the Draenei's comment, though said nothing.

 

“I imagine things cannot be easy right now for you, or your family.” Velen continued with a kind voice. “For that, I am sorry. If there's anything I can do for you and your family please let me know.”

 

“No. They haven't been.” She replied, struggling to contain her emotion. She then paused for a moment, trying to find a way to phrase her next words.

 

Velen waited patiently as she did.

 

“That is why we have come. My son came to see us in the shop in the Trade District before he left again.” She then began.

 

“I'm sorry. He came to see you?” He asked, not certain if he heard her correctly.

 

“He looked like someone had beaten him. He said he had died but was alive again. There were huge holes in his wrists.” Miriam told him, trying to keep herself under control. Her son put his hand on her shoulder to try and comfort her.

 

This was new information to the Draenei Prophet as his expression moved from mother to son studying their honest faces pained from the memory. Of course Sylvanas had told Anduin, Muradin, and he of what had happened to Jeshua after the Dawn Event, but this was further confirmation that someone else had seen him alive days after his death.

 

“I wasn't aware of this. What else did he say, if you would please?” Velen asked her. He needed to know as much as he could.

 

“He wanted us to go find his followers and have them tell us about him. He said that because he lived we would live. He said that we would find them in Lordaeron.” She told him. She paused again, trying to compose herself a little more before saying, “Things have become difficult here for all of us. There have been some of the Priests that have been harassing my husband and sons in our furniture shop because we won't agree with them about my son. We were wondering... well, we were hoping that maybe you might be able to help us.”

 

 _So, it's already started._ Velen began to mentally kick himself for not seeing it sooner. He put his hand to his great white beard which flowed down from his azure face like a waterfall in thought. This was a kind, good family who had raised an extraordinary man. They didn't deserve to be caught in the middle of any of this.

 

“Can you help us... your imminence?” The boy asked, his voice already having deepened to that of a man. “Lordaeron's not the easiest place to get to, or even the safest from what I've heard, but that's where my brother wanted us to go.”

 

 _Safer there now perhaps than here for them._ Velen thought to himself. He doubted anyone there would harm a hair on their heads once they discovered who the Davidson family was, and would likely defend them vehemently if their queen was any indication.

 

Velen nodded his head, considering all the options. “Yes, I think I can make some arrangements for safe passage for you and your family. Return home for now and be ready to travel. I agree it may not be safe for you here right now. Don't risk returning to Stormwind again. I will send someone to your home who can open a portal to Hearthglen. I will also write a letter to Lord Tyrosus explaining your situation. I am certain he can see you safely from there.”

 

 _Yes. Most certainly safer for Jeshua's family among those who bear his standard than here by far until Anduin and I can deal with what we were told at Light's Hope._ He thought to himself. It was the best solution for Jeshua's family, for the time being at least.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 

The circular, domed Cathedral of Light in Lordaeron was packed that morning of the first day of the week, just after dawn. The wooden pews were filled, and people were standing around the circumference of the sanctuary of the Light filled holy place. Those who could not find a place inside to stand or sit attempted to gather in the foyer and spilled outside onto the church's steps.

 

Since the Cathedral had been cleansed and reopened by Jeshua Lightborn and his emissaries, it had remained available for anyone to come and seek the Light or sit quietly in meditation. The cloister apartments had been made available by the queen to Jeshua's emissaries and they attended to anyone seeking to be healed or learn about Jeshua. But no one had restored the regular service of worship on the first day of the week as of yet.

 

No one until today.

 

Much to her surprise, a newly living Alonsus Faol, alongside the emissaries Jim Jacobson and Mathaius Levi, had come to Lordaeron's current queen requesting permission to hold regular services in devotion to the Light, and in particular, in devotion to the Lightborn. After much discussion, it was decided among all present that the new services would be held at dawn on the church's original day of worship to commemorate the New Dawn which Jeshua had brought to all of them. It would be announced throughout the city.

 

By the morning it was held, all of Tirisfal Glades knew about it. From the appearance of the crowd, all of Tirisfal Glades had come in response as well.

 

In the center of the sanctuary, directly underneath the great dome of the church, stood a marble stone altar on a raised white dais. To either side of the altar were positioned candle stands, the candles of which appeared to be fresh and new, except all those present knew they had been burning brightly for weeks with no rational explanation other than that Jeshua had been there. On the surface of the altar a large silver chalice filled with a deep red wine had been placed where the Tome of Divinity would normally lay open. The great and venerable altar book, which had stood its vigil for decades in the empty and forgotten cathedral, had been carefully moved to the corner of the altar to make way for the unusually placed cup.

 

Standing in front of the altar was an older man in plain brown linen clothes. His grizzled, lightly bearded face had been weathered by a hard life under the sun and on the sea. The veteran sailor had become well known to the whole of the city as Jeshua's chosen “shepherd”, though the man refused at all to take any kind of title other than the one the Lightborn had given him, _Emissary_. Unlike any clergy most of those attending had ever known, neither he nor his fellows dressed in any kind of fine or showy vestments. There was no gold thread, no expensive silks or mageweave, nothing to indicate they had any kind of a position or power at all. They might have been well washed vagrants off the street. And unlike anyone else of any prominence or rank, they carried no weapon, staves, jewelry, or trinkets of any kind. Yes, one _might have been_ forgiven for mistaking them for nobodies off the street, such was their impoverished appearance.

 

But the story the old sailor spun, and the teaching he gave were anything but ordinary.

 

Jim had been talking to the assembled crowd for some time, relating to them what Jeshua had taught himself and his fellow emissaries during their time with him. Jim's speech was rough at times, and the crowd could easily tell that the man hadn't received much in the way of a formal education. He spoke plainly and honestly. At times, like the sailor he was, he thought nothing about peppering his sentences with “colorful” language, not noticing or caring about some of the blushes or strange looks he received.

 

And then he began talking about the night Jeshua had last eaten with them. His voice took on a certain solemnity and reverence that hadn't necessarily been there before as he recalled some of his last memories of his “Captain” before his death.

 

“The night Jeshua got murdered, just before he was,” Jim Jacobson told the assembled crowd, “He took a cup he had on the table, and poured some wine from a bottle he kept on the table we were eating at. He had it waitin' there for the whole meal and hadn't opened it yet.We'd all been wonderin' what he'd been saving it for.” Jim then picked up the full chalice from the altar, holding it reverently in both hands, and showed it to all those present. “He prayed over it, 'n when he did we all saw a little bit o' Light pass into it. The Captain said the wine in the cup had become his blood. He told us it was to seal the pact he was makin' with all of us, that if we remained in him, he would remain in us, and he would do anything we asked from him.”

 

A quiet murmur passed through the crowd at Jim's description of the wine as the blood of a pact being made. They all knew and remembered with disgust the pact the people of Silverpine had made with the Worgen's blood. They all knew what it had done to them.

 

Jim then passed a hand and prayed over the contents of the cup quietly so that even those near him would strain to hear him, “I'm doin' what you asked, Captain. Now I'm askin' that you do what you said and make this cup like you did that night.”

 

As he whispered his awkward prayer, Jim's hand began to glow with a gentle golden light which passed over and into the cup of dark red wine. “Thanks for backin' me up, Captain.” Jim then whispered, his eyes misting over just a little.

 

He then held the cup again even more carefully with both hands and showed it to the crowd once more, “Jeshua told all of us who were there to drink from it, and not just us, but everybody who wanted to follow him after us. So we're offerin' it now to everyone here.”

 

The crowd was silent as they watched him, their eyes attentive and their ears attending to every word.

 

Jim then sipped from the chalice and offered it to a Night Elf man dressed as simply as he was standing nearby. After the Night Elf, it went to a Draenei woman dressed in the same way, and then down the line of all those present near the altar, each sipping carefully from the cup. From there Jim then returned to where he had been standing in front of the altar and held the cup out to those sitting in the pews and standing around the circumference of the sanctuary.

 

“This cup is for anyone who wants Jeshua to be a part of them.” Jim then told the crowd, offering it out to them. “It's for anyone who wants to be a part of his pact with us.”

 

In spite of the large crowd, the sanctuary was so silent that a mouse could have been heard echoing loudly from wall to wall had one been there. The idea of a blood pact like this, even one with the man who had enlivened them again...

 

There was no movement within the sanctuary. Jim knew why. He'd lived among these people for the last few weeks and knew their opinions of the “pact” the Gilneans and the Worgen had made just to spite them. Jeshua knew it too, and yet this was how he chose to do this.

 

Finally, seeing that no one else had moved, a single elf woman with golden blond hair and dominant bearing stood up from the front pew. She wore the blue cowl and cloak of one of Silvermoon's former ranger generals, and gilded mail armor across her torso and legs as she came forward. Sylvanas Windrunner, queen of Lordaeron and Warchief of the Horde, drawing back her hood to reveal her face fully, took the cup from Jim's hands and said loud enough for the entire Cathedral to hear her, “ _I_ will make this pact with Jeshua. _I_ won't dishonor his memory.” She then also sipped from the chalice and handed it back to the emissary.

 

After she sipped from the cup she paused for a moment, and then looked back at Jim in surprise. Jim nodded to her, understanding the recognition and realization she had just experienced just as he and those with him that night had also experienced. Her life and Jeshua's had become intertwined just as theirs had.

 

Jim then handed the cup to the queen's champion and consort, Nathanos Marris, whom he had met in Hearthglen. Nathanos also took the cup without hesitation, nodding familiarly to Jeshua's emissary. His reaction had been similar to his Lady's.

 

The next person to come up was a virile but elderly man with balding head, gray hair in a ring, and short gray goatee. His own conservative crimson tapestry vestments were those of a Priest of the Church of Light symbolizing his faith, though they weren't the more extravagant Bishop's vestments he might have been entitled to wear for his rank in that denomination. He approached reverently and humbly, his head bowed in contemplative, quiet prayer. Alonsus Faol also took the chalice and sipped from it.

 

After these a line began to form as all those within the church stood up to accept the chalice. Person after person came to honor Jeshua's cup. Old, young, man, woman, soldier, builder, farmer, wealthy, and poor, it made no difference. Jim then began to worry that the cup might run dry as the line of people wanting to honor the man who had redeemed them didn't end. Soon, Jim lost mental track of the number of people, though he knew the sanctuary itself had to be able to hold hundreds not counting those standing during the service or those outside.

 

But every time he glanced at the level of the cup, it never seemed to drop below the half way point of the ornate silver chalice. He wasn't an educated man, not in any traditional sense having done most of his learning at sea and on the deck of a ship, but even he knew that was impossible with so many people, and he silently thanked his “Captain” once more.

 

And then Jim began to notice something else he hadn't before. The eyes of those who partook of the cup began to glow with a soft golden light. As his own eyes moved, glancing at the person taking it from him that moment, to the queen that still stood watching the proceedings, to those who had already come. There was a golden, light filled glow which had taken root within each one's eyes which he hadn't seen before even in Paladins he had met. Jim didn't know what it meant, but assumed that his Captain did, and that was okay with him.

 

Jim had drank from the same cup. He knew that Jeshua was watching all of it through Jim's own eyes too. That was the pact they had made, Jeshua within them, and they within him.

 

* * *

 

In Stormwind...

 

Lord Grayson Shadowbreaker knelt in front of the altar in the Cathedral of Light that morning just after dawn. His gilded Paladin's armor had been left on a display rack in his apartment in the city, and instead he wore olive green woolen pants and vest over a simple white shirt. Sturdy, shined brown leather boots were on his feet. The only weapon he had was a short sword in a scabbard on a belt at his waist. The great church itself was largely empty as services would not be held for several hours, and the Priests themselves had not arrived in the sanctuary yet. It was dubious they would even be awake at that hour.

 

His return to Stormwind had not been pleasant. Unable to enter the Sanctum of Light on his own, unable to call upon the Light at all, he had returned quietly, and certain that the Argent Crusade guards would inform the Highlord of his... How would they describe it? A rejection by the Light? A fall from grace? A corruption? All of the above? Would the Highlord then inform his majesty? Would he be cast out and stripped of his title?

 

He had not returned to those lands he owned as a lord knight of Stormwind within Elwynn Forest. As much as might have wanted to return to his holdings, he could not bear those there knowing his disgrace. Would they even remain in his hands once word became known? Or would he be stripped of his lands and title? He didn't know. He had been so filled with shame at the Light's rejection of him that he had seen and talked to no one but went straight to the rooms he had use of in the city and had shut himself in, taking no food or visitors for three days. His obligations as a trainer of new Paladins were let go for the time. His own students and apprentices had been left to their own devices. He could not face them without the Light.

 

He could do nothing without the Light.

 

“The Light abandons no one.” It had been a maxim which Tirion Fordring had discovered through his own experience. The great man had taught, and lived by it. Grayson Shadowbreaker was now clinging to that maxim as he wrestled with what was happening to him. If the Light didn't abandon anyone, then what had happened to him?

 

A personal copy of the Tome of Divinity had lain open on the wooden desk in his apartment as he searched through it, looking for answers, but he continued to find none that seemed to help. The only answer which appeared to him seemed impossible in his mind. _He_ _himself_ _had abandoned and lost faith in the Light._

 

Except he _hadn't_. Not in his own mind at any rate. Not yet.

 

And neither had the Priests in the Cathedral, but they too appeared to be cut off. After leaving his chambers he had thought to seek counsel from Bishop Marcus as his own spiritual director. The Bishop however had informed him of the challenges that he too had experienced and had no answer for as of yet.

 

More disturbing still to the struggling Paladin was the darkness he began to feel from some of the clergy. In the absence of their connection to the Light, many of them had resorted to the Shadow in order to continue healing, albeit at some personal cost of pain to themselves. Grayson's world had been turned inside out where the Shadow was growing and the Light, once his strength and salvation, was now aloof and distant and would not respond to his pleas no matter how sincere or even tear filled.

 

On the sapphire carpeted steps in front of the altar, those pleas had continued as he humbled himself before his divinity. He didn't know how long he had been on one knee searching deep within himself for the presence of the sacred.

 

He truly didn't understand, and felt like a child whose mother had turned her back on him without explanation. He had fought the unholy and undead for decades. He had healed in the Light and championed justice throughout his life, teaching and training others to do the same. He had fought pride, selfishness, and unrighteous anger within himself at every turn, and had made the Tome of Divinity his guiding refuge in the Holy Light. He had even gone to Light's Hope in the name of the Light to seek the destruction of those abominations which the dark charlatan Jeshua had created, and to restore sanity to the Paladin Order. What more could he do to prove his faith and devotion?

 

As he knelt there, the image of a man with reddish blond hair and beard flashed across his awareness again. He didn't know who it was, or why the man's face would come to him. He had never seen or met him before, he was certain. The expression on that face was pained and sorrowful towards him, even as he reached out with his right hand gesturing for Grayson to approach.

 

 _Why am I seeing this man's face again_? He asked himself internally. And then the next thought, _Is the Light trying to show me something?_

 

A hope kindled within him that maybe the Light hadn't fully left him. Maybe the man it was showing him had something to do with it. Maybe if he found this man, he would receive answers.

 

“When is a Paladin not a Paladin?” A strange voice echoed the riddle mockingly in the empty sanctuary.

 

Grayson's one good eye opened as he came out of his meditations. His muscular, athletic body was stiff and sore as he rose to a standing position before the altar, nodding a short bow in respect before turning to face the owner of the voice.

 

What he saw was a human man robed in dark blue, his facial features mostly hidden by a cowl. The man was standing not far from what Grayson knew to be the entrance to Stormwind's burial catacombs. Even from that distance though, the knight could feel the presence of the darkness emanating from the man. It felt cold but tangible, and there was a discordance in the air, a madness around the man that seemed to want to reach out towards Grayson and turn his own mind inside out.

 

“What do you want, Shadow Priest?” Grayson asked, his tone neutral but not friendly. He knew those devoted to the Shadow weren't explicitly forbidden from the cathedral, and he respected it even if he didn't like it.

 

“Oh no! Not what I want, but what do you want? The Light's all turned off and you can't find a way to light it up again? Maybe a goblin can help, hmmm?” The dark man taunted. “They're good at that I hear.”

 

“What do you know of it, Priest?” Grayson then demanded from him from where he stood, his left hand fingering the sword at his side.

 

“What do I know? What do you know? What does anyone know? That's the trouble. Everyone knows, so no one seems to.” The Shadow Priest moved calmly to stand in the center of the barren church, facing the knight as he stood on the steps next to the altar.

 

“What mad riddle is this? Either speak plainly or be quiet in this place.” Grayson warned the man. “You will respect the Holy Light in this place.”

 

“Oh! Respect the Holy Light!” A wicked looking grin spread underneath the man's cowl. “The Shadow knows the Light well, but its devotees don't seem to. That is the riddle, is it not? The Light wanes and the Shadow rises because no one can see what's right in front of them.” He then began to giggle as though laughing at some private joke at the knight's expense.

 

“What do you mean?” Grayson then questioned, seeing that there appeared to be some method behind the man's mad ravings.

 

“Dawn has come to the north, and dusk to the south, Paladin. The Light has made its move, and now the Darkness counters. You will see! All will see!” The Shadow Priest began laughing maniacally as he turned his back on the struggling man and strode out of the cathedral.

 

Grayson Shadowbreaker watched the madman leave the church, laughing as he went. The knight's mind was filled with questions. He wanted to dismiss the Priest's words as the riddles of a madman, but something within him couldn't. There was a truth there cloaked in a deception that he felt he had to understand. And he felt it was all tied to the man whose face he kept seeing. He had to know who this man was. And he had to understand the truth behind the Shadow Priest's riddle.

 

Grayson would discover what had happened. He would set things right. The Light had finally answered his prayers, he felt. It had given him a chance at redemption for whatever transgression he had committed.

 

It had given him a quest.

 

* * *

 

Later that day...

 

Bishop Marcus had been in his private study within the Cathedral when Lord Shadowbreaker had come to him that afternoon. It had been a couple of hours after the morning service. He had developed a relationship with the man over the last several years, taking over as the Paladin lord's confessor and spiritual director after Bishop Farthing retired to his own small property in the countryside. They had developed a good understanding of one another in that time, and a good working relationship as well.

 

The morning service had been noticeably subdued. There had been no healings. Neither Marcus nor Laurena dared attempt any at the moment. His homily had preached on the virtues of the Light, and the pursuit of faith and justice even when times seemed the darkest, and falsehoods and illusions surrounded you. He had then gone into the supposed Dawn Event and the false teacher Jeshua and how the Light simply didn't work that way. It had been a good homily, and the people had been attentive.

 

Though there had been a noticeable absence. The Davidson family, so attentive and devout in the past, had not been there that morning. He had approached Joseph in his shop after being alerted by a concerned and kindly Brother Kristoff of the man's deviation into his son's heresies, and his verbal abuse of a Priest who had been singularly devoted to the Light his entire life. He had encountered the carpenter's verbal abuse himself, and had been forced to warn him of the serious consequences he would face in the church if he didn't see the error of the path he and his family were being led down.

 

Even the Shadow Priests, as deviant as he believed their devotion to be, understood the importance of correct theology and view of things. This man Jeshua's teachings, persisting even after his reported death, threatened to confuse and twist that. And worse, his incredibly complex and dark magics threatened to deceive the untrained and uneducated.

 

As a guardian of the sacred deposit of faith of the Church of Light, Marcus couldn't allow that.

 

The Bishop had been contemplating these very things when the Paladin lord, dressed in humble clothes and armed only with a plain shortsword at his waist, had knocked once more at his door. The man had looked haggard and tired, and the clergyman was certain he had not bathed since the last time they had spoken and commiserated about their mutual crisis of faith.

 

It was a question to which Marcus had yet to find an answer.

 

He had invited the Paladin inside his study once more and bade him to sit in the carved, blue upholstered wooden chair opposite himself at his writing desk. Next to the desk and lining the walls were wooden shelves filled with books of philosophy, theology, and some of Azeroth's greatest authors. On the desk was a personal copy of the Tome of Divinity with worn gilded pages, and a writing journal. Next to this were a pen and raven colored inkwell.

 

“Your grace, the Light has granted me an answer of sorts!” Lord Shadowbreaker had told him. “It has granted me a vision twice now of a man I am certain has much to do with our problem. I feel that he must be found.”

 

Surprise and some hope began to fill the old Priest's features. It was tinged with a little envy as well that the Light would speak to the Paladin and not to the higher ranking clergy, but that would have to take a back seat for the moment.

 

“Please, my son. What does this man look like?” Marcus had asked.

 

When the Paladin had given the Priest the description of the man he had seen in his visions, Marcus had leaned back and sighed. Thoughts raced through his mind as to what it meant. He had no doubt of Lord Shadowbreaker's sincerity or that this was what he had seen. The man's reputation for humility and integrity was legendary. Marcus also knew for a fact that the Paladin had never come within recent sight of the man he was describing. He couldn't have.

 

“I know the man the Light has shown you.” Marcus finally told the Paladin. “And I believe you are correct in your assumption he has much to do with our plight. Indeed, I believe him to be the source of it.”

 

“You do?” Grayson Paladin had sat up in the chair upon this revelation. “Who is he? Where might I find him?”

 

“You are describing the heretic Jeshua as I saw him in Hearthglen, my son. As for where you might find the man himself, as I have been told by Lord Greymane, he was betrayed and executed by the Banshee Queen herself who then accused Lord Greymane of the murder.” The Bishop replied. “Evil will always collapse in on itself.”

 

Confusion spread over Grayson Shadowbreaker's face as he digested this information. “Then how...?” He began to ask.

 

“The man may be dead, but he lives on through his followers as they continue to spread his poisonous and confusing teaching among those in the north. You've had to face it yourself among the Order of the Silver Hand, have you not?” Marcus told him. “An organization wholly dedicated to the service of the Holy Light refused to do the Light's will and purge a village full of undead abominations and ghosts. How can that be? This poison must be stopped, my son. Perhaps the Light showed you this man's image because it wants you to be the one to stop it once and for all.”

 

The Paladin became very quiet at the Bishop's words, dropping his head as he thought. The Priest could see a struggle on his face where he believed none should have existed. But then, the struggle appeared to pass and a grim determination took it's place.

 

Lord Shadowbreaker then raised his head and said in voice which carried the weight of a Paladin's hammer, “Then I will become the Light's retribution. Send me north and I will purge this poison from Azeroth once and for all.”

 

Bishop Marcus then took the man's hands into his own. “The Light's will be done.” He told him solemnly.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 

In Stormwind Keep...

 

Genn Greymane stood late at night circling a long wooden table with three SI:7 handlers: a lithe, dark haired human woman, a dwarf man of the Bronzebeard clan, and an emerald bearded kaldorei man with azure skin tones, all with serious expressions on their faces. They were in a plain, windowless, mostly unremarkable upstairs room in their somewhat unassuming headquarters to the south of Old Town in Stormwind City that evening. The gray stone walls of the room were bare except for a soft wooden board against an interior wall covered with maps of Azeroth, the extra dimensional world called Outland, the alternate Draenor, and even the planet Argus. Small colored tacks had been lightly hammered in at various, seemingly random points on each of the maps with the exception of Argus. This one had small holes randomly placed as though all the markers had been pulled from it some time before. The wooden table had several unused chairs and sat in the center of the room covered in written report parchments and leather dossiers. A few oil lanterns sat in strategic locations around the room to provide enough light to read by. Greymane stood pouring over the reports, being particularly concerned with those coming out of Lordaeron for the moment.

 

Behind him, the map of Lordaeron had innumerable fresh tacks from one coastline to the other.

 

Greymane had taken a personal interest and hand in Stormwind's intelligence affairs, funneling and sifting information to himself first before allowing it to reach the king's eyes and ears—as much as he could at least. There was a certain practicality about this that Genn felt justified his involvement in this way. He had more decades of experience as a king than Anduin had years of life. Anduin was a good man and a generous soul. He had the heart of a Holy Priest, and while that made him a better king in some ways, Genn had known it also meant he wouldn't have the stomach for the more pragmatic measures which kings must take to ensure the security of their kingdoms as well as their own survival. And so the older man had stepped in, having no qualms about dirtying his own hands with blood when necessary, only really informing Anduin when he needed to know certain things like the Azerite discovery in Silithus by the Horde some time ago, and the sudden disappearance of the mineral after the “dawn event.”

 

The report he held in his hand detailed the movements of Sylvanas Windrunner and Nathanos Marris. Greymane had begun to appreciate the irony of the increasing ease of slipping SI:7 agents into Lordaeron since their population now appeared for all the world to be entirely living humans except for the queen and her elven rangers. The only real issue had been the Lordaeron accent the spies had to learn on the fly, but that was a trifle. A flood of information to Stormwind had ensued, and Greymane had been able to keep close watch on their leadership, where they went, what they ate, and with whom they spoke. The report in front of him in particular spoke of the church service Sylvanas had attended the day before, reopening the cathedral in the city.

 

“So, the Banshee's gotten religion.” Genn had snorted upon reading it. “I guess that's what happens when you've got one foot in the grave... or both in her case.”

 

The other men in the room chuckled as he said it.

 

“We might be able to use that somehow.” He then added, his expression turning more pensive as he considered the possibilities, speaking more to himself than to the others.

 

They had been like this for the last several hours. Several mugs of cold Blackrock coffee sat on the table bearing witness when the door to the room opened without warning, and a tall blond masculine figure stood in the doorway wearing the insignia of Stormwind's monarchy. Even with the darkness of the unlit hallway behind him he was clearly visible. The king appeared to bring light with him even among people who thrived in shadows and secrecy.

 

“Genn, we need to talk.” Anduin Wrynn spoke into the room, his voice even, but heavy.

 

Greymane looked up from the dossier in front of him to see the young king's face in the lantern light. His blue eyes held a disappointment and an anger in them. His expression was that of a man who had been betrayed by one closest to him.

 

Genn gestured to the others in the room and said unceremoniously, “Leave us. Close the door behind you.”

 

Without a word, the handlers obeyed and, as the king stepped into the room, they stepped out and closed the door behind them, at least giving the appearance of understanding this conversation was for the ears of kings alone.

 

“How did your talks at Light's Hope go, Anduin?” Genn asked in a friendly, even paternal manner, seeing from Anduin's expression his question would be ignored even as he asked it. He could imagine what had been said without Anduin relating anything to him.

 

“When were you going to tell me?” Anduin replied, refusing to be diverted from his course by the older man. “ _I_ am Stormwind's king. _I_ decide when to commit forces.”

 

Genn looked down at the table again, gathering his thoughts quickly. Though he could make an educated guess, he had not been informed of what was said at the Paladin stronghold. SI:7 had not been able to get agents into the meeting who wouldn't be spotted immediately as not belonging.

 

“It would help if I knew to what you were referring, your majesty.” Lord Greymane replied, a practiced air of innocence in his voice.

 

“Did you send one of our own Paladins to ask the Order of the Silver Hand to murder an entire village of innocent people?” Anduin demanded from him.

 

 _Ah... that._ Greymane thought.

 

“Do you really think you can believe anything the Banshee Bitch tells you? I thought you had better sense than that, Anduin.” Genn retorted, taking the tone of a teacher trying to get something through a student's head.

 

“I didn't hear it from Sylvanas, Genn.” Anduin responded, the look of hurt in his eyes growing as he stepped closer to his friend, standing eye to eye with him.

 

“Then who?” Greymane asked.

 

“The Highlord of the Silver Hand informed me of the plan to purge Darrowshire; a plan that apparently had your backing. Genn, how could you even think of such a thing? There are children there for Light's sake! Innocent children!”

 

“It wasn't my plan,” Greymane replied quickly, “it was discussed by Bishop Marcus and the clergy before they came to me with Lord Shadowbreaker. But yes, I gave my backing to it. I was working off the best information I had at the time, and _all_ of that information said that all of these supposed healings and resurrections were necromantic illusions. What I did, I did for the Alliance and for you, Anduin. We didn't need another Lich King raising the dead to lead another army of monsters against us, not after what we just went through.”

 

“These are living people Genn. I saw the proof of that myself. Sylvanas cut her own hand to show us her living blood. I healed her with the Light myself and she did not react as an undead would. The Highlord of the Silver Hand and their governing council has sworn on it. The healings are real. It's all real. You would have been responsible for the murder of hundreds of innocent people, and through you, the Alliance. _I_ would have been responsible! Their blood would have been on my hands! We can't afford those kinds of mistakes!” Anduin's voice was passionate and angry, and so unlike anything Greymane had seen from the young man.

 

His tone of voice was more assertive and kingly than Genn had ever heard him before. It was clear by the young king's tone that his words should also be considered commands. In spite of himself, the older man felt a streak of pride in Varian's son just then.

 

“The Highlord is a good man, and an honest one. I fought side by side with him once during the Legion War.” Genn responded. “Did I ever tell you that? It was over Stormheim.”

 

“As did I when he escorted me through the Broken Shore. I trust his word.” Anduin told the older man. Whether it was meant or not, there was a certain subtext to the king's words that struck the older man painfully as though the blow had been physical, _more than I trust yours right now_.

 

“I have always only had the best interests of the Alliance in mind, Anduin, and yours as well. I made a promise to your father as I watched him sacrifice himself so the rest of us could live to fight another day. I've spent every day since trying to keep it.” Greymane told him, the pain on his face real and not just for Anduin's benefit.

 

In spite of his own blood vendetta against Sylvanas Windrunner, he _had_ believed his actions had been in the Alliance's best interests. He _had_ wanted to see Anduin grow into the king he believed he could be. He owed Varian at least that much. Every action he had taken against the Banshee and the Forsaken had been in the Alliance's best interests, and, as far as he was concerned, so had the actions he had taken against the preacher who had caused this most recent mess for him to clean up. He had worked hard to expose Sylvanas and her followers for the monsters they were, and the preacher had upended all of it.

 

“I know, my friend.” Anduin replied, his tone softening just a little. “But in order for us to move forward, we can't hold on to the past. The time of conflict with the Horde is over. Sylvanas has agreed as warchief to stand down the Horde's forces, and I have agreed to do the same with ours. With all the reconstruction which needs to happen in the north, they have to. If nothing else, they need to redirect their manpower. They can't afford to focus on warcraft when both Lordaeron and Quel'Thalas need to plant crops, rebuild towns, and restore their living societies. Our own people have suffered heavy losses over decades of war as well. We all need this peace if we are going to have a future.”

 

 _The Horde actually standing down is new information_. Genn thought to himself in surprise as the wheels in his mind began to turn. _We'll need to confirm it. It would explain some of the reports of movements that just came in from Kalimdor._

 

“I suppose the Banshee still wants you to turn me over to her?” Greymane said in derision. “You have to know I had nothing to do with the preacher's death.”

 

Anduin then paused for a moment, studying Genn's face before he responded. A pained expression crossed the king's face before he said, “No. She rescinded her request for extradition.”

 

“Did she? And what reason, pray tell did she give if she believes me responsible?” Genn asked, his voice mocking, but underneath truly curious.

 

“Because Jeshua asked her to forgive you.” Anduin answered.

 

“I'm sorry?” Genn replied with genuine surprise. “I thought the preacher was dead and buried.”

 

In truth, he had reports in front of him from SI:7 that spoke of the general belief among the denizens of Lordaeron that Jeshua had been raised from the dead somehow, but the agents hadn't seen him alive themselves and couldn't verify it. Genn had assumed that if there was any truth to it, then the Banshee must have used one of her Val'kyr and hidden him somewhere to cause further problems later on.

 

“He had been. The third day after his death, he raised himself from the dead. A few days after that, as I have been told, he ascended into the sky and disappeared in an explosion of light.” The king told him.

 

“And you believe this?” Greymane asked him.

 

“After everything I've seen and heard these past two weeks, yes I do. I only wish I could have spoken with him myself.” Anduin answered, still studying Genn's expression intently.

 

Genn considered this pensively. He then turned from Anduin and sat down wearily in one of the old, plain chairs at the table, putting the tips of his fingers together in thought. This was not news he wanted to hear. It would make things incredibly difficult for the young king that he did truly care for. A heavy weight felt like it had settled on his shoulders, heavier than it had been in a long time.

 

“That is not a popular sentiment in the city these days, Anduin, especially not with the other clergy. Bishop Marcus has seen to it.” Genn told him honestly. “You need to be careful with whom you express that belief.”

 

“What do you mean?” Anduin asked, looking down at the seated old man.

 

“The good bishop is convinced the man is a heretic fraud, and an agent of evil. He's been teaching that the changes across Azeroth are illusions meant to deceive the faithful. He has most of the church's clergy convinced of the same. The general population of the city is split, but you of all people should know how many listen to what is taught in Stormwind's Cathedral.” It was all the truth Genn told him, he had just left out his own complicity in the matter. Anduin didn't need to know how loyal Gilnean Priests were assisting the good bishop in spreading his opinions.

 

The Worgen king hadn't taken Anduin's sincere beliefs into his calculations. It was an error his mind was quickly trying to recover from and find another solution to.

 

“And what of High Priestess Laurena? Surely she has been a voice of reason.” The king's eyes and tone of voice were alarmed at the news he apparently had not been paying attention to.

 

“The High Priestess increasingly finds herself having to be pragmatic about what she says in the Cathedral.” Genn responded, again careful not to reveal his own complicity in boxing her in.

 

“Politics in the Church?” Anduin asked with disgust. “That is not the teaching of the Tome of Divinity.”

 

“The Church's politics are usually the most vicious, Anduin.” Genn replied. “Though they do love to display the good book, their service to the Light isn't always as immaculate as one might believe.”

 

“Then as king mine has to be.” Anduin then said resolutely. “It is only right. The Holy Light has given us a great gift and I won't be the one to cowardly sit by and see it blasphemed by misguided clergy. Not now, not when we've come through the fires of Argus to get here.”

 

For just a moment, Genn just stared at Anduin's resolute and hardened face and could have sworn he was looking at Varian once more. The young king had the same lion's look in his eyes as he spoke of doing what was right. But still, he was alarmed at Anduin's response for the young man's own sake.

 

“Your majesty, you need to be careful. You may be king, but that doesn't mean...” Genn tried to warn him off. The mood he had helped to create in the city was not in Anduin's favor, and if he wasn't careful it could prove disastrous to him. In his mind, a vision of Liam's dying form came, and then it was Anduin he held in his arms.

 

 _No! Never again!_ Genn's very being rebelled at the thought.

 

“I am king, yes, but I must answer to the Light too.” Anduin told him cutting him off, his determination fixed and unmoveable. “As must we all.”

 

The wheels in Genn's mind turned even faster now as he tried to find a way to protect his young charge from the events he himself had been setting into motion. He had to contact his own agents within the city. He had to turn this around. He would not see Anduin come under threat.

 

Genn couldn't go through that again. He couldn't risk losing Anduin too.

 

The king then turned to leave Greymane to his thoughts. As he did, one more realization came to the exiled Gilnean monarch.

 

“You said you healed Sylvanas, Anduin? You said you used the Light to heal her?” He asked him before he left the room.

 

“Yes.” Anduin said, turning around to face his friend once more. She had cut her own hand with a knife to prove to us that she was alive. It was only right that I be the one to heal it.” The king replied. “Why?”

 

“It seems to be a much rarer talent in the city these days.” Greymane replied. “The clergy appear to be having trouble with the Light since the dawn event.”

 

Anduin nodded, absorbing this new information. “'The Light hears the cry of its own.'” The king quoted from the Tome of Divinity. “If what you say is true of the cathedral's Priests, then this is disturbing news indeed.”

 

 _Yes it is. Disturbing._ Genn thought to himself as Anduin left the room entirely.

 

* * *

 

On the road west to the City of Lordaeron...

 

The deep blue sky had only a few wisps of clouds, and the warm sun shone down on them merrily, a cool breeze keeping them from growing too hot from the day. To either side of them groves of healthy green trees, both needled and leafy, dotted the landscape of vibrant green grass and gently rolling hills to the north of the highway in Tirisfal Glades.

 

The Davidson family's horse drawn wagon had been on the road through Tirisfal Glades for hours since leaving that morning from the farm in the province which had generously boarded them for the night. The memory of meeting the farm's owner was still fresh in Miriam Davidson's mind. It was blending with her family's other extraordinary experiences since traveling north into what had been not long before hostile lands.

 

True to his word, Velen had sent a Mage to their house in Elwynn Forest with instructions to open a portal for them to Hearthglen two days after Miriam had spoken with him. The human man had arrived alone and wearing clothes that would mark him as a mere traveler on the road and nothing more. There had been nothing to indicate that he was one of Stormwind Keep's own royal Mages. In his possession had been a letter carrying Velen's own seal and addressed to the Paladin lord Maxwell Tyrosus whom Miriam had met before. He immediately turned this sealed letter over to Miriam, explaining his instructions from the Draenei Prophet.

 

The Davidsons, not knowing what they could carry with them, each had packed a large backpack with clothes and some few personal items. They had all discussed it as a family, and realized that they had no way of knowing when they would or could return home. Joseph Davidson had traveled before with his own father to the Night Elf capital at Darnassus once for two months, and so he had advised his children what they needed to bring and what they didn't. Miriam had never acquired much, preferring to retain the habits of simplicity she had acquired growing up in the cloister in Gilneas City. Her one extra everyday dress and spare shirt were folded neatly in her own pack along with some basic toiletries, and a few pictures and mementos of her family she had treasured.

 

The Mage had sent them all through the portal of sapphire energy in the sitting room of their home, away from the eyes of those who might be watching. Joseph had been the last one to cross through, making sure his family had all gone through first. Once the head of the household had gone, the Mage closed the portal behind them. He then discreetly teleported from the house back to his own chambers in Stormwind Keep, making sure there were no candles or fires burning before he did, and locking the doors.

 

Arriving in Hearthglen, they were met by Argent Crusade guards who immediately recognized the reddish haired woman. A Sindorei woman with deep red hair greeted her by name as she stepped out first from the Mage's portal, and then had been surprised to see two teenaged boys and a little girl all of whom bore more than a passing resemblance to the teacher who had lived in their fortified town so recently, and then finally the dark haired muscular tradesman who stepped aside, assuming that the Mage who opened the portal would be coming through after him, and expressed genuine surprise when it closed instead.

 

Lord Tyrosus had been informed immediately of their arrival, and upon breaking the seal and reading the letter addressed to him his expression had become worried and serious. He had immediately ordered horses and a wagon for the family and what provisions the Paladin controlled town could spare for their journey, apologizing that he couldn't do more.

 

“We're stretched thin as it is right now, Mister and Missus Davidson. If it were anyone else asking it right now, I would have said we couldn't help at all, no matter how much we wanted to.” He had told them sincerely. “But I knew your son and what he did for all of us here in Lordaeron. There's no way we can repay that enough.”

 

Miriam had considered the Paladin lord's words again and again, keeping them close to her heart as they traveled south to Andorhal and then west into Tirisfal Glades. Lord Tyrosus had also confirmed for them that Jeshua's emissaries had indeed gone west to the City of Lordaeron over a month before, and that was the direction he had sent them in. She had heard story after story of the Lich King's devastation and depravations of these lands growing up and well into adulthood, and she herself could barely believe even some of those tales any longer as the wagon drove through them. They saw no undead, no plagued animals barely clinging on to life. The forests were healthy and the fragrances of the various trees were carried on the breezes. The roads were clear, and all those people they passed were most certainly human and working hard to get old fields plowed and sown.

 

The city of Andorhal south of Hearthglen had been in a state of new building and growth when they stopped that first night at the inn, itself undergoing a massive renovation. There had been a light and a joy in the people's eyes, all just as human as her own, that she had rarely seen in anyone's. There had been nothing but kind words, and reverent, even worshipful expressions when Jeshua's name had been mentioned.

 

 _Jeshua did all this?_ The question came into her mind again and again, remembering the Paladin's words as they continued on their journey west.

 

It had been close to sundown when they spied the farm fields and house from the road the day before after entering Tirisfal Glades. They had passed a series of armored fortifications and tents that looked to have been manned heavily once upon a time, but they were not stopped by them. Upon seeing the wagon with simply dressed human commoners and children, the guards had just waved them on wearily without questions. Of course, they hadn't been the only travelers on the relatively busy highway either.

 

The white tabards the guards wore with the starburst door emblem and the single, blood red, “T” shaped human figure in the center burned itself into Miriam's mind yet again. She had first seen it when passing through Andorhal displayed everywhere. The mother had briefly asked the innkeeper in the city what it meant before they left.

 

“You must have been reborn pretty far out to not know. Your accent's not from around here at least.” The reddish haired woman in Andorhal had told her, eying her curiously before continuing. “That's alright, we've had a lot of people come through from the east in the last week without any idea of what's happened in a long time. The Queen changed our standard to honor what Jeshua Lightborn did for all of us.”

 

She then went on to explain to Miriam and her family how the center of the emblem represented Jeshua's murder on the main door of Lordaeron's Keep, and the golden cross sunburst around it represented his resurrection the third night after. The white background was the blank slate, the new start they had all been given in the Light. Sylvanas Windrunner had helped design the insignia herself.

 

But it was the farmer who had boarded them the night previous who had truly driven home to her what kind of an impact her son had made on these people, and how wrong her own prejudice about them had been.

 

The innkeeper's explanation of the new insignia had been on her mind when Joseph who had been driving the wagon next to her said, “The horses are near exhausted, and we need to find a place for the kids and us to stay tonight, but I haven't seen a real town since we left Andorhal.”

 

It was then that she had spied the fields and farmhouse from the road. There had still been workers finishing up before heading in. “We could ask there. Maybe they know of an inn nearby.” She had said.

 

It was reasonable enough, so Joseph turned the wagon down the dirt road off the main highway to catch one of the men nearby.

 

“Hey, friend.” Joseph had greeted the man, pulling the horses to a stop.

 

“How's it going, friend?” The farmhand had replied, cautious but not unfriendly.

 

“We're new to these parts. Do you know of an inn or a place my family and I could stay for the night?” The carpenter had asked.

 

The man took off the wide brimmed hat he had been wearing and smoothed out his sweaty, dirty blond hair underneath it before looking this way and that and answering, “Nearest inn would be Brill, about fifteen or twenty miles down the road that way.” He pointed west. “You'll see a fork in the road going north before you reach the city.”

 

Joseph's face fell at the news. He had been certain the animals wouldn't last that long, and they hadn't eaten for some time since the morning.

 

“Are we stopping now, Mama?” Sarah's voice had come from inside the covered vehicle, followed by her girlish face peeking out between her parents.

 

The farmhand's stubbled face turned towards the sound of the little girl's voice. “You've got young'uns with you?” He asked, his voice surprised and quivering just a little with emotion.

 

If Joseph hadn't known better, he would have thought the man hadn't seen a child before. “My daughter and two boys.” He answered.

 

The man then scrunched up his face in thought, seeming to wrestle with himself. He then said, “Let me go talk to Mr. Ferrigan. He's the owner of this place. Maybe he'll let you folks bed down in the barn for the night or something. You all just wait here.”

 

It was about ten minutes later when another man came out of the house with the farmhand and met the Davidsons near the road.

 

This new man had been observing the wagon and its occupants in detail as he approached it. His expression also appeared cautious, and somewhat untrusting of the strangers on his land. He had a balding head of salt and pepper hair and full beard. He wore a sweat stained white workshirt underneath a dirty blue woolen vest as though he had been out in the fields working that day too. The callouses and blisters on his hands also attested to that fact. But there was a certain light in his eyes as well that the husband and father couldn't place.

 

“Gerald Ferrigan. The man said, tentatively offering his hand to Joseph in greeting.

 

Joseph climbed down from where he had sat in the wagon and took it. “Joseph Davidson. This is my wife Miriam, and my kids are in the wagon. We're on our way to Lordaeron, but as you can see our horses aren't going to go much farther. I had hoped to find an inn or a town but there don't seem to be any along this road.”

 

Gerald Ferrigan listened intently to Joseph's explanation of their situation, his eyes intelligent and sharp. He then asked, “Where are you from, Mr. Davidson?”

 

It was a question that the family had been dreading, and up to that point had miraculously seemed to squeak by without too much explanation until now. “Well, we came down from Hearthglen a couple of days ago.” He told him, hoping it would satisfy him.

 

It was the truth after all, just not all of it.

 

“Hearthglen's an Argent Crusade town. I got to know some folks from there recently. You don't talk like them. So, I'm going to ask you again, Mr. Davidson, and you're going to tell me the truth. Where are you from?”

 

Miriam began praying silently to the Light almost in spite of herself. She knew her husband couldn't lie to save his life. Literally.

 

“Elwynn Forest. I grew up in Stormwind if that's what you're asking. Is that a problem, Mr. Ferrigan?” Joseph replied.

 

The farm's owner took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If you're from Stormwind, then you should already know the answer to that question, Mr. Davidson. But I already knew you were. I heard your accent enough around some of the Alliance soldiers on the Broken Shore during the Legion war. I fought there with the other deathguards and sometimes even side by side with you southerners when the need arose, though it wasn't often.” He paused then for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. “We all have good reason to hate you and your people for what you've done to us for the last thirty years. Do you know how often we all had to worry about whether or not we'd meet the abyss at the end of a Scarlet Crusade or Alliance Paladin's hammer. I use to wonder if I would've known the man before the Scourge if it happened that way. To be honest, there was a time when none of you would have left here alive.”

 

The family's hearts caught in their throats at the man's words. As much as Joseph might have wanted to fight to defend his family, he knew he wouldn't last long. Had he only brought them there to die?

 

“Now look, we didn't...” Joseph began to say.

 

But the man cut him off saying, “But Jeshua Lightborn taught us to love our enemies, and do good to those who persecuted us. I suppose that even means folks from Stormwind. My man here says you have kids in the wagon. Our cook's almost got supper ready, and we've got some spare rooms in the house. It's not much, but it's something. My kids... My kids didn't survive the plague, so I suppose yours can use the room that used to be theirs.”

 

And at this Miriam's heart just broke completely, and her eyes began to water. She had really only thought of the Forsaken as monsters. What they had suffered hadn't really hit her until Gerald Ferrigan had started speaking.

 

Not knowing what else to say to him in response, she asked, “You heard my son teach?”

 

The farm's owner then looked at the woman intently, a recognition settling over his face. “You're Jeshua Lightborn's mother, aren't you?” He asked with some astonishment.

 

“Yes.” She replied. “He was... is my son.”

 

Both farmer and farmhand looked at each other as if to confirm they had both heard correctly. And then the farmer said, “Yes, ma'am I did hear him teach.” The farmer's voice took on a reverent tone. “I spent a week in Hearthglen with him and his emissaries. He's the man who gave me back my life. He gave all of us back our lives.”

 

He then stepped aside and spoke privately to the farmhand, giving him some instructions. The other man then started off towards the house, running as he went.

 

“Bring your wagon up near the house. We'll make sure your horses are fed and well rested tonight. You can eat with my wife and I. You folks won't have to worry about a thing.” Mr. Ferrigan told them both sincerely.

 

“Thank you, sir.” Miriam had told him, her eyes watering.

 

“No, ma'am. Thank you for your son. There's nothing I can do to fully repay what he did for us.” He replied. “But I can at least make sure his family are taken care of tonight.”

 

It was a conversation Miriam Davidson would never forget.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

 

Over the Hillsbrad Foothills just before dawn...

 

The golden and white colored gryphons flew over the dense tree tops to a concealed landing point the small strike force of armored Alliance warriors, veterans all, had worked out the day before. They had been given the cover of the early morning darkness for most of their flight from the Wildhammer gryphon aeries of Aerie Peak in the Hinterlands province. Their clandestine orders bore the official seals and signatures of Bishop Marcus and Lord Greymane, two very high ranking officials representing both the Church of Light and the Alliance, which did much to persuade the Wildhammer gryphon masters to part with their animals with little or no notice.

 

Grayson Shadowbreaker took point in the “V” shaped flight formation on the moonless night, following the brightly shining stars towards their destination. Flanking him to the right was Durothian Rall, a comrade and fellow Paladin who also had somehow had his connection to the Light severed with no explanation. To the left were Katharine the Pure and Arthur the Faithful, both of them having been accomplished and devoted Paladins in their own right. There were maybe half a dozen others off either wing of Grayson's gryphon. All of them had been consecrated as Paladins to the service of the Light, and all of them had found themselves lost since the Dawn Event and in a crisis of faith looking for redemption and an answer to why the sacred presence had deserted them so without explanation. All had also been turned away from the Order of the Silver Hand in disgrace with the Light's rejection and their support of the Church of Light's insistence on destroying the new abominations.

 

When Lord Shadowbreaker had approached these others of Stormwind's Paladins with the vision he had been given, and the new mission with which he had been inspired by Bishop Marcus, they had also answered the call. They accepted it as a way to prove their faith in the purging of this new masked “scourge” and the legacy of the necromancer Jeshua who had brought it about. Lord Greymane had been consulted as well and given his blessing. Within hours, a plan of attack had been drawn up using SI:7's vast resources.

 

The first target which had been suggested had been Darrowshire north of Aerie Peak. It would have been a shorter flight and easier access. But the reports from Stormwind Intelligence indicated that a large Argent Crusade presence had been posted there and at Crown Guard Tower delusionally funneling supplies to the newly raised monsters. Their brother Paladins had been so thoroughly duped that they were aiding the enemies of the Light, and there was little question that they would face stiff resistance if they attempted to purge that town. None of them had been comfortable with the thought of having to fight and kill their own brothers in the Light to reach the monsters they were protecting, blind though they might be. No, they had to choose a target where they wouldn't be fighting their own, but one that would strike a meaningful blow at the heretic abominations.

 

In the early morning light, the town of Tarren Mill appeared across the river as the Paladins descended towards the cover of the trees and hills just north of Durnholde Keep. There were no Paladins here. No “true” living humans that they knew of. It was only patrolled and guarded by a token force of Horde troops, a mix of a couple of dozen Orc Grunts and Forsaken Deathguards. Having fought against the Horde for much of their lives, none of the warriors from Stormwind had any trouble with that. The corruption had begun at Tarren Mill, and it had been decided that it would be at Tarren Mill that they would begin the purge putting all those enchanted undead to the sword and cleansing the town. They would destroy the new evil where it started.

 

The plan had been to set fire to the town before first light while most of the town's occupants were still in the buildings, destroying them before they knew what was happening. They would then set the newly planted fields to the torch and burn them to ashes. All those who survived the flames would feel the Paladin's hammer and then feel nothing at all.

 

The Light would be avenged for the blasphemy which had been forced upon it.

 

It was grim work as Grayson ran through the plan in his head over and over again. _But the Light doesn't always call us to easy things._ He reminded himself. _It calls us to righteousness, and that is rarely an easy thing._

 

The gryphons descended lower and lower until they were just above the tree tops. The wind was loud in his ears from the flight, drowning out most other sounds. The leaves and needles of the forest grazed the magnificent animals' hind feet making a quiet rustling sound as the landing point rushed up to meet them.

 

“ _GRAYSON!!!”_ A man's voice shouted loudly at the Paladin from nowhere. Startled he looked from side to side to see where it might have come from.

 

“DUROTHIAN! WHAT IS IT?!” Grayson called out to his right, shouting louder than he was comfortable with for fear of drawing attention to them, but having to overcome the sound of the rushing wind.

 

“I SAID NOTHING, MY LORD!!!” Durothian responded, his voice loud enough to hear, but still next to a whisper in the wind.

 

“ _GRAYSON!!! PAY ATTENTION!!!”_ The voice shouted at him again, loudly and clearly.

 

“WHO IS CALLING MY NAME?!!” Grayson cried out to those flanking him.

 

Without warning, a bright light, brighter than the noon time sun exploded in front of Grayson Shadowbreaker's eyes as he looked ahead of his gryphon again. Blinded from the sudden change from almost pitch darkness to blazing light he instinctively let go of the reins of the gryphon, throwing his gauntleted hands up to his face to protect his one good eye, and then found himself falling in space through tree branches and leaves.

 

Down he went, hitting heavy branches hard. Sharp pains hit his limbs again and again as though he were being beaten with rods. He heard the snapping and the scraping of wood against metal as he went. Sharp twigs struck against his heavy plate armor which was the only thing keeping him from being impaled on the larger woody protrusions as he fell through the darkness, but it also might as well have been an anchor or a millstone tied to his body as it dragged him faster towards the hard earth beneath.

 

 _I'm going to die._ The thought ran through his mind. It wasn't the first time it did so, having fought on numerous battlefields, and it had never disturbed him before as much as it did then. He had never feared death as much as he did in that moment, because the thought of his own death was soon followed by, _and the Light has left me._

 

Seconds later his back hit the bare ground of the forest hard with a heavy “thud.” Stunned and not able to move, he could only just lay there, explosions of pain shooting through his back, skull, and extremities. He struggled to breath, and the pain only magnified as he did. His lungs fought him on taking in more air. Around him at a distance he could barely hear the sounds of human voices, Durothian and Katharine calling out his name in the darkness. Dazed and confused he drifted in and out of consciousness, only knowing he wasn't dead or asleep for the intense shooting pains throughout his muscled and conditioned frame.

 

He tried to open his one good eye, but found that though it was already open, the darkness remained. He was completely blind.

 

“Grayson!” The man's voice called out to him again, though more gently as though he now knew he had the Paladin's undivided attention.

 

But, dazed and confused, the Paladin couldn't respond just yet as he tried to orient himself. Pain shot through his neck and back as he tried to move his head.

 

“Grayson!” The man's voice was insistent once more.

 

“I'm... I'm here!!” He cried out in response, thinking it had been one of his compatriots trying to find him. The pain of doing so had been almost unbearable, but he needed someone to find him quickly or he wouldn't survive. “I'm here!!”

 

“Grayson! Why are you trying to destroy me?!” The man then questioned him. “Why are you turning my hand away?!”

 

 _What?!_ Confused, the Paladin responded, his breaths shallow and ragged, “Wh... Who are you? Wh... Where are you? I can't... see... anything!”

 

And then the Paladin's sightless vision filled with holy, purifying Light. It would have been blinding except that he already could not see anything else. And in the center of the Light the form of a man took shape; a man composed of pure, radiant Light. His eyes and reddish blond hair blazed with the Light as though he was the center of the sun. His tanned skin appeared like molten bronze. Wounds appeared in the man's wrists as though spikes had been driven through them. It was the same man whose face he had seen in his visions reaching out to him sadly.

 

“I am Jeshua. I am the one you are trying to destroy.” The man told him.

 

Alarm and shock ran throughout Grayson's pain wracked body as he struggled to comprehend what was happening. Adrenaline surged as he shouted back, “No! It... It can't be! Jeshua tried to trick us! He's tried to destroy the Light!” Grayson responded, every word a struggle to speak.

 

“I am Jeshua, and I am the Holy Light.” The man responded calmly, his expression concerned. “You have been blinded, friend. We walked together once, you and I. I would have that again.” The man's tone was of one who might be talking to a friend who had gone down a dangerous path. “I do not want to lose you or any more of my own to the Shadow.”

 

Grayson's mind raced still trying to explain the vision he was having. He couldn't reconcile it with what he had believed to be true, but neither could he ignore the radiant glory of Light in front of him.

 

“Aarghhh!” Grayson Shadowbreaker cried out in pain. He was certain that bones had been broken in his back and ribs. Sharp pains in his legs informed him of possible fractures there too. He still lived, but he knew that it would only be for moments more.

 

“You reveal yourself only to take retribution on me then.” He responded, sputtering his words as blood flecked his lips. “So be it. I justly die for my error.”

 

The Being of Light shook his head slowly and responded, “No. I have other things in mind, other work for you to do, Grayson.”

 

“Death would seem to disagree with you.” Grayson coughed up more blood.

 

“Here, let me help you, old friend.” The figure of Light bent down and then said, “Let me heal you, body and soul.” The Light filled image of Jeshua moved to touch him with his scarred hand and wrist, and Grayson couldn't resist.

 

Immediately a soothing peace flooded his being, and the pain which had been hellishly unbearable subsided to nothing. For a brief instant, he thought he had finally broken his mortal bonds as all pain fled and there was only peace, but then he felt the hard ground underneath him, and the weight of his armor still pressing against his body. He gasped and drew in a full breath of cool night air tasting of forest leaves and loamy soil.

 

 _I'm not dead._ He realized. And then a further shock came with the comprehension that the vision had fully healed him. But his natural sight had not returned. He could not see the stars or any of the shadowy outlines of dark woods he should have been able to see.

 

His vision was still only filled with the blazing Light of the man, Jeshua.

 

“I still can't see. I'm blind.” Grayson said, the first thing then coming to his mind as he still lay there on the ground.

 

“Your sight was blind before, now there is nothing to distract you from seeing me clearly. But I am sending you on to Tarren Mill. There you will find a man named Andrew Haleis. He will restore the sight to your eyes.” The Light filled Jeshua told him. “Then, I have more for you to do. You will take my cup back to Stormwind and deliver them from what is to come.”

 

“I don't understand.” Grayson replied.

 

“You will, my friend.” Jeshua told him. “I've missed your companionship. I would have us be friends again.” The Holy Light answered him.

 

And then the vision faded, and Grayson Shadowbreaker was left in the darkness once more. The pain from the fall had gone, but his soul and mind had been left in turmoil and agony as he wrestled with what he had just experienced.

 

“Grayson?” Another familiar baritone voice came to him. It was Durothian Rall's.

 

“Durothian?” Grayson replied. “I can't see anything! Where are you? Did you see him? Did you hear his voice? Tell me I'm not insane, please!”

 

“We're all right here, Grayson.” Durothian replied. “We didn't see anything, but we heard his voice. We all heard it. By the Holy Light, we all heard it.”

 

The voice of a woman, Katharine, then spoke as feminine hands went to work on the straps of his armor, “Don't move just yet. I knew you were tough, but I can't believe you survived that fall, Grayson. It must have been close to seventy feet through the trees. We need to get your armor off of you and check for bleeding and broken bones. I've got healing droughts and bandages in my medpac.”

 

“Do you have anything for my sight?” He asked, ignoring her admonition and attempting to sit up.

 

“No.” She replied, and he felt a woman's hands on the sides of his head. “You can't see anything?”

 

“No. It's all darkness now.” He replied, bringing himself up and feeling around the soil and roots of the earth around him with his hands.

 

He felt his breastplate and cloth cuiress come off as the cool morning air struck the bare skin of his chest. “Holy Light. You should be bruised black and blue at the very least, but you don't have a scratch on you! How is that possible?” Katharine exclaimed. “No bruising, nothing! You should have died from that fall!”

 

His conversation with the vision ran through his mind again and again. Somehow that vision of Jeshua had actually healed him completely just as he had said. _I would have us be friends again._ The man's words echoed through his mind again and again. _No, not the man's words. It was the Light which spoke to me. It was the Holy Light reaching out to me with Jeshua's face._ _How could we have been so wrong?_ He thought to himself.

 

“I need to get to Tarren Mill.” He then told them, trying to get to his feet.

 

“Stubborn ass. Sit back down.” Durothian chided his friend, though there was a lack of certainty in his voice. “Your mission is over until we can get your sight back. Tarren Mill will have to wait.”

 

“No,” Grayson replied slowly. “Damn.” He swore aloud, trying to make it make sense. “How could we be so...” He trailed off thinking of all of the conversations he had with Marcus. “I don't...” He wanted to weep. He wanted to be angry. He wanted put his his hammer through something. But most of all he wanted to know the truth.

 

Finally he said, “No, I think my mission has just begun. I think...” He tried to put into words what was rushing through his mind, “I think I've just been given new orders by the Holy Light itself. I can't explain it. Look, I can't see. I need answers. We all need the truth on this. Those answers are there in the town. I need someone to lead me to Tarren Mill, please, no matter what happens there. I know what I'm asking may be suicide for whoever goes with me, but I don't think I've got a choice, and I can't find the way by myself. The rest of you...” He took a breath, considering the options, “Go back, report to Stormwind.” He then reconsidered, “ No, wait. Not Stormwind. Light's Hope. We serve the Holy Light first. I think somewhere along the way we all forgot that. Report to the Highlord. Let him know what transpired here, what you heard and what you saw happened to me. I think he'll be willing to listen. Wait for word from me there.”

 

There was silence around the man for more than a minute. He couldn't see what was going on, but imagined there was some kind of battle sign language being passed between them.

 

“I'll take you Grayson.” Katharine then told him. “I want to keep an eye on you after that fall. I still don't know how you're even alive.” She told him, then adding, “I heard the voice too. I want real answers as well.”

 

“The rest of us will return to Aerie Peak for now.” Durothian then pronounced. “We wait there for three days. If we don't hear anything from you, we'll assume the worst and report to Stormwind. If we do hear from you, and... and what we heard is the truth then we'll head to Light's Hope and report to the Silver Hand.”

 

“Fair enough.” Grayson answered.

 

There was silence for a minute, and Grayson knew that some other unspoken communication was passing between the others. These were men and women he trusted with his life, and they him with theirs.

 

“Three days, my lord.” Durothian confirmed. “We fly for Stormwind at dawn of the fourth day.”

 

“So be it. Let's go.” Lord Shadowbreaker said out loud into the darkness around him. In spite of his disability, there was a determination in his voice.

 

Grayson couldn't see it, but in the east, the sun broke above the horizon. Dawn had come without his realizing it.

 

* * *

 

In Stormwind City the following day...

 

Anduin's public announcement spread through the city like wildfire. Printed on parchment, and stamped with the royal seal, it was posted and distributed on billboards, tavern walls, and signs around the city:

 

“To the good people of Stormwind and the Alliance. After having seen the miraculous transformations in the north for myself, and hearing the testimony of the Order of the Silver Hand, as King of Stormwind I am fully endorsing the embrace of these transformations caused by the Dawn Event as genuine, and I am also fully endorsing the authenticity and teachings of the teacher known as Jeshua who is responsible for these miraculous events. As soon as is appropriate, arrangements will be made to foster the reuniting with loved ones in Lordaeron thought lost to the plague. Any suggestion that these events are illusions or necromancy is verifiably false and is not supported by myself. Signed, Anduin Wrynn, King of Stormwind. [ROYAL SEAL]”

 

Most conspicuously, it had also been tacked to the doors of Stormwind's Cathedral of Light.

 

“The boy king has been ensorcelled by the Banshee!” Bishop Marcus exclaimed upon reading it as he stood on the front steps of the Cathedral next to High Priestess Laurena in the late morning.

 

His first instinct had been to tear down the delusional decree, but the seal on the document stayed his hand for the moment as a guard wearing the lion's livery and plate armor patrolled nearby. The royal seal ensured that anyone removing or defacing it could be arrested and brought up on charges.

 

“The King has made his position perfectly clear.” The High Priestess remarked, keeping her tone of voice carefully neutral. “Perhaps through him, the Light has...”

 

Marcus cut her off, “The Light has been betrayed!” He announced. “We've all been betrayed and handed over to the Forsaken without the Horde having needed to so much as lift a sword!”

 

Laurena pursed her lips in thought. “King Anduin has always been devoted to the Holy Light, Marcus.”

 

“Which makes this all the more distressing, High Priestess.” The bishop responded. “We both know what kind of mind control Shadow cultists are capable of, and the Forsaken are known devotees of that wicked heresy. His majesty is clearly not in possession of himself anymore.”

 

“There is no evidence of that, Marcus.” Laurena's voice took on a tone of warning to her inferior. “He is still the king.”

 

“Is he? Is he still the King Wrynn we know? Or is he a puppet of the Banshee Queen now? We need to call the clergy to discuss what to do. Stormwind is under threat from within at the very highest levels!” Marcus told her.

 

 _Enough_. She thought to herself, and that thought became louder and more powerful. _ENOUGH!!!_

 

Laurena had listened to enough. Within herself, she felt her cautiousness and pragmatism begin to melt away at the accusations leveled against her king, the devout young man she herself had dedicated to the Holy Light as a child.

 

“We will do nothing of the sort, Marcus.” She said, turning to him, raising herself up with authority and staring into his eyes with severe disapproval. “This paranoia has gone on long enough. I will not tolerate treason being preached in this holy place. Anduin is king of Stormwind and we will do everything within our power to support his wishes. Am I clear, your grace?” Her voice became like steel as she said it. “I do not want to hear another word against his majesty, _or_ Jeshua Davidson.” _Another devout young man I knew as a boy_ , she thought to herself, protective maternal instincts rising within her. “The rest of the clergy will be instructed the same. Do you understand?”

 

Marcus looked at though he had been physically slapped by his superior. To him, she suddenly appeared as a woman he didn't even know.

 

“You can't be serious, Laurena! If Anduin is compromised, he must be removed from the throne until he's in his right mind again! Lord Greymane could perhaps rule as regent until such a time as...” Marcus tried to reason with her.

 

“Not as long as I draw breath, Marcus.” The High Priestess dug in and refused to be moved. “I am ordering you to return to your chambers. You are suspended from any and all service as a Priest of the Light until such time as you come to your senses!” She then added somewhat coldly, “You are dismissed, _Brother_ Marcus.”

 

She watched as the color visibly drained from the man's face. Wordlessly and in shock, he slunk away towards the Cathedral's cloister apartments.

 

Overhead, the sunlight shone down on the High Priestess, and she basked in it's warmth and light. Within herself, she felt a familiar warmth return and fill a place within her that had been cold and dark for weeks.

 

She had made her choice.

 

Across the square, in the shadows of Stormwind's orphanage building, a figure robed in midnight blue had watched the whole exchange with great interest, reading the lips of the two arguing clergy. A smile broke across his cowled features at the conclusion.

 

“As long as I draw breath...” He repeated in a whisper. His grin grew evilly as he said, “What an interesting challenge. I may just have to accept, High Priestess.”

 

His eyes then followed the disgraced clergyman as he crossed the square to the cloister where the former Bishop had run into another of the king's proclamations nailed to the door of the priestly residences. Anduin had apparently wanted to drive his point home. Frustrated, Marcus had opened the door quickly and slammed it behind him.

 

The Shadow Priest's attention was then drawn back to Laurena who still stood on the steps of the Cathedral, her eyes closed, her head held towards the sunlight which had broken through what had otherwise been a cloudy day, her hands raised palms up towards the light.

 

He liked her better when she was indecisive, pragmatic, _gray._

 

The appearance of the renegade preacher Jeshua had thrown their entire world out of balance, and this was the problem the Shadow Priest was trying to correct. Like the others of his brethren, he too had wanted his life back, and was thankful when the New Dawn had come and he had found himself with a heartbeat again. He would not refuse such a gift regardless of where it had come from. His own faith, the Cult of Forgotten Shadow did not eschew the Light as much as it understood its proper place in the great scheme of things, as a counterbalance to the Void.

 

Before the plague, he too had been a Priest in the service of the Church of Light in Lordaeron's Cathedral. He understood the Light better than most, even when it appeared the Light had forsaken them alongside everyone else who had abandoned them. But waking up in undeath had exposed him to the truth of the dark beauty of the Shadow as well. It was a lesson which the New Dawn had not taken from him, even if his faith and that of his fellow clergymen in the Shadow was now no longer welcome in Lordaeron.

 

The Queen had made that extraordinarily clear not long after the preacher's resurrection. The change in his beloved majesty had been, quite literally, from night to day, and it pained him to see her rejecting the beautiful, holy darkness which had sustained them for so long.

 

Like the Priesthood here, he and his brothers too had lost their ability to command the Light not long after Jeshua's ascension. He too had seen the man raise high up into the sky and erupt like an exploding sun. He was well aware of Jeshua's genuine authority and connection to the Light. He had seen Jeshua for what he really was. They all had. And for that reason they had used their free will to turn away from his message and from him. When they did, the Light had been closed off to them.

 

It hadn't been as difficult for the Forgotten Shadow to put the pieces together as it still seemed to be for the Church of Light. A rejection of Jeshua was a rejection of the Light. They had figured that out quickly. But unlike the Church here, it had bothered them little. They had been used to being estranged from the Holy Light. They had come to prefer the bittersweet embrace of the Darkness instead.

 

The Light was attempting to overpower the Shadow once and for all and had found a way to set it in motion. The Shadow Priest couldn't allow that to happen. It would destroy everything they had all fought for regardless of whose side they landed on. He had been loyal to his Queen. In his own way, he still was. He was trying to save her from herself. He would try and save all of them from the Light's new assault.

 

He watched Laurena carefully as she eventually turned into the Cathedral itself.

 

 _Often, sacrifices must be made for the greater good_. He thought to himself as he watched her go. _Lots of sacrifices._

 

_* * *_

 

Later that evening...

 

The moonless night had been chill as the Stormwind guard patrolled Lion's Rest. He hadn't expected to see too many people out especially this close to the water. For himself, his armor and padded underclothing kept him reasonably warm, if not dry in the mists.

 

As he made his rounds moving away from the man made waterfalls he noticed a female figure wearing the white and gilded robes of the Cathedral's Priesthood. It wasn't terribly unusual to see one of the priests or priestesses wondering King Varian's memorial for inspiration for a sermon or contemplation, though as it had been approaching midnight the timing wasn't normal.

 

He chose to discreetly follow her, though didn't want to interrupt her needlessly if she was deep in prayer or something of a spiritual nature. He had a great respect for the clergy and their ways.

 

As he drew closer, he realized it was the High Priestess Laurena. Strangely, in spite of the cold, she had no cloak or coat on over her vestment robes.

 

She walked towards the far edge of Lion's Rest and then stopped. The patrolman held his distance respectfully, though his sense of unease grew exponentially with every second.

 

Then she climbed up on the short protective wall overlooking the sea and the rocks below.

 

“High Priestess!” The patrolman shouted, and then began to run towards her, his armor clanking as he did so.

 

The patrolman reached out instinctively as he ran trying to catch her robes, but he was too far from her. He might have been two or three feet. If he had only had a few more seconds.

 

He was forced to watch helplessly as the High Priestess Laurena stepped off and into the empty misty air and plummeted into the darkness below. Immediately, he ran for help from the other guards patrolling nearby. They in turn, knowing seconds counted, ran straight to the Cathedral to get someone who might be able to retrieve and revive her if they could only reach her in time.

 

But Stormwind was a big city, and the Cathedral District was still a distance from Lion's Rest. And in the panic and urgency of the emergency, no one saw the dark figure obscured by the shadows several yards away from the scene of the tragedy moving swiftly away from the memorial.

 

The next morning, Laurena's smashed and broken corpse was retrieved from the rocks beneath, and the whole city was in mourning for their beloved High Priestess. None of them could understand the reason for her sudden and inexplicable suicide.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

 

In Stormwind City...

 

The Cathedral was filled to capacity as Alliance dignitaries, noblemen, common tradesmen, beggars from off the street, and everyone in between turned out to remember the devout servant of the Light that High Priestess Laurena had been. The memorial service had been a solemn affair in accordance with the church's liturgies. Out of respect and wanting to focus on her life, no mention during either the eulogy or the homily was made as to the circumstances of her death.

 

After the religious service, her body, having been freshly embalmed and cleaned up so as not to betray how she had died, lie in state in fresh gilded white vestments as befitting her station in a white casket placed on a stand at the foot of steps of the altar where she had served. Mourners passed by saying their own good-byes and remembering the gentle, revered healer and shepherd that had been the city's guiding light for many, many years.

 

Presiding over the Memorial, Bishop Marcus reflected much on the proceedings of the night before last. He felt the mental and emotional whiplash keenly as he still struggled to understand what had happened, and how quickly everything had changed.

 

The Stormwind guards had rushed to the Cathedral immediately upon the report from the patrolman of her suicide. Two guards remained at the location where they could see her body on the rocks below while two more had been dispatched to the Church's cloister immediately on horseback through the cobblestone streets of the city. They knew the priesthood could resurrect one who had died within a certain amount of time, and that every second counted.

 

The patrol guards had pounded on his wooden door on one side of midnight or the other begging the nearly defrocked Priest to hurry. In a state of confusion, he had answered his door wondering why the Stormwind patrol was at his door. In truth, the brief though that they had come for him had crossed his mind, and so when he opened the door he had half expected to be arrested. Instead, they were pleading with him to follow them, only saying that there had been an accident and someone had died. It wasn't the first time the patrolmen had sought the priesthood's assistance in such an emergency, but it was the first time since the Light refused to hear him. They apparently weren't aware yet of the problems the clergy were having.

 

_Perhaps this time the Light would hear._

 

In spite of his recent difficulties with the Light, in spite of the strange barrier which had arisen for himself and his brothers and sisters in the Church, he went with them, hurrying as fast as he could to Lion's Rest. He must have looked a comical sight, running embarrassingly in his night clothes. When he had reached the memorial and looked down in the dim light to see the broken form of a woman's body in the vestments of the High Priestess, he went into a kind of shock, disbelieving what he was seeing.

 

He recognized the victim even in spite of the darkness of the night, and yet it didn't look real.

 

In spite of himself, he called on the Light. He did not really expect it to answer him after all that had happened. He did so regardless, hoping that maybe the Light would answer, if not for him than for Laurena's sake, but once again, the Light remained silent. There was nothing he could do, and it had already been at least twenty minutes if not more from the time the patrolman reported her jump to the time he laid eyes on her white robes just barely visible in the darkness on the rocks below them. Six minutes was all the priesthood could count on for a successful resurrection, and after eleven minutes there was no hope whatsoever. Regardless, he had even attempted to call on the Light to levitate down to her, but it would not respond to him. He attempted to plead with the Light for her life, but there was nothing.

 

The Light was gone, and so was she.

 

“The Light's will be done.” He had whispered to himself in defeat, bowing his head as a single tear fell.

 

Marcus had been as shocked and saddened as everyone else had when he recognized her broken, dead body. Even more so when he had seen the wisps of her white vestments stained with the dark splotches of blood as Stormwind's guards retrieved her corpse from the rocks which had smashed it. It had not felt real to him. None of the events of the last few days had.

 

In spite of her lack of clear sight on many things, he had genuinely respected his superior. She had in the past been an inspiration to himself of faith and compassion. He had still been awake in difficult and confused contemplation, and attempting to seek guidance from the Tome of Divinity when the guards had pounded on his door. It had wounded him greatly when she had verbally suspended him just hours before her suicide.

 

But strangely, she had not put that suspension into writing, or informed the other clergy of her decision earlier in the day. Indeed, no one had even been aware that there had been a falling out between them. Instead, he had been the first member of the Priesthood of the Light who had been informed of her death, and those around him had just naturally expected him to take the leadership of the Cathedral until another High Priest could be elected from among Stormwind's higher ranking clergy.

 

Aside from himself, however, there were few candidates which would be seriously considered at that point in time; a fact which Marcus was aware of all too well. A sense of guilt had risen within him regarding this, but once again there was little he could do except step down.

 

 _And then who would be able to protect the Church from those who would seek to destroy it?_ The answer to that question kept him from laying aside the sigils of his office. After all was said and done, Laurena had not put the order for his suspension into writing. She had not notified anyone of it except for himself. The only reasonable conclusion for this oversight was that she had recognized it for the foolishness that it was and had seen reason.

 

 _But then why did she jump?_ _Was she attempting to levitate? Did she attempt to call on the Light once more and fail as the rest of us have?_ He thought this latter explanation the most likely, though he would never have thought the High Priestess so reckless as to risk her life on such an attempt.

 

In truth, Marcus' own emotions remained confused at the sight of the handsome woman displayed in front of him that day. Standing on the steps in between the casket and the altar, he had worn black vestments inlaid with golden thread as had the other clergy symbolizing the grief they all felt for her. As a sign of mourning, and in some final deference to the woman's last words to him, he had foregone his bishop's miter and his graying, somewhat bald head remained bare as he stood his silent vigil during the viewing after the memorial service in the Cathedral. He would remain there until the viewing was over, and then it would be time to remove her remains to the burial catacombs beneath the Cathedral where she would join her predecessors. His feet and back ached from the long period of standing, and the thought of the longer period he knew would yet be.

 

The first person to view the casket had been the king himself, Anduin Wrynn. In spite of his obvious delusion with the Dawn Event heresy, the expression of grief and concern on his features had appeared real enough to the clergyman. Was it guilt the young man was experiencing? Was it repentance for his foolish pronouncement? Marcus had hoped that the High Priestess' death would shock the young man back to his senses. At least then, some good could come from the terribly tragedy. The handsome, youthful king had briefly met the Bishop's eyes with his own blue ones, nodding in respect to the clergyman before moving on.

 

The king had been followed by Lord Greymane. His expression had been a respectful but emotionless mask. Lord Greymane had strangely not met the Bishop's eyes at all.

 

After him, the High Priest of the Conclave had passed, though he received little recognition from most of those attending with the exception of the aforementioned nobility. Since the Legion War which had seen his ascension over the Conclave, the man was away from Netherlight Temple only rarely. He had traveled to Stormwind by portal solely to honor his fallen colleague and the Church over which his ultimate jurisdiction fell. It was likely he would remain in Stormwind to oversee the holy gathering of clergy for the Church of Light until a successor to Laurena would be elected. His own otherwise glowing golden robes and miter had been changed out for more subdued and humble dark vestments befitting the occasion. It would explain why few attendents there beyond the clergy and the nobility appeared to recognize the great yet humble man or his station unifying all the denominations of Azeroth. He stopped before the casket, and had gently lain a white rose on Laurena's chest, stretching his hand out in a quiet, thoughtful prayer over her before moving on.

 

 _Surely he has heard of our plight here in the Cathedral._ Marcus had thought upon seeing the superior clergy. _I must speak with him later when it is appropriate._ _Perhaps he knows better than we what has happened to us and what must be done._

 

Then, a string of dignitaries and nobility followed, and then the common people, and there were many of them, who wanted to see her and pay their final respects. All of Stormwind it seemed had turned out.

Laurena had been much loved.

 

 

As the line of people began to reach its end, one family from the church that Bishop Marcus had expected to see was again strangely absent. Joseph and Miriam Davidson and their children had been nowhere to be seen. The elder Davidsons, Jacob and his wife had passed by, the grief and concern on their faces very real, but not the younger.

 

 _All of Azeroth must have heard of Laurena's passing, and the Davidsons had held a good rapport with her._ He had reasoned. _I never would have expected them to dishonor the High Priestess by not paying their respects. What a dark path the heretic Jeshua has led those poor misguided people down. I must pay a pastoral visit to their home, and soon._

 

The last man to view the casket wore midnight blue vestments under a dark cowled cloak. Marcus could feel the Shadow from the man across the casket that separated them attempting to draw in and trap the light around them in its void. The cowl of his vestments had been drawn back to reveal a pale, older man balding like himself, but with a full graying beard.

 

A look of dismay crept over Marcus' face at the presence of the Shadow Priest.

 

 _How dare this heretic set foot in this holy place? And in an hour of our greatest grief?_ His outrage grew within him as he watched the man with disdain. Laurena had never forbidden the dark priests from the Cathedral, but they were also far from truly “welcome”.

 

 _It is something which I will look into changing upon my ascension to the High Priesthood._ He thought silently, and then immediately, _Did I really just think that? Is it wrong to think that I would be Laurena's successor?_

 

But the Shadow Priest said nothing. The heretic cleric's face was a mask of reverence for the proceedings as he laid a blood red rose on Laurena's chest. It appeared for all the world that he merely wanted to pay his respects to the superior clergy as everyone else did, regardless of his own beliefs.

 

 _I suppose that is what the Conclave was formed to do; create respect among those of differing creeds and faiths so that we can all work towards a common goal._ Marcus reflected. _Perhaps that is why Laurena never banned them. It is a lesson which I could stand to learn I suppose._

 

After withdrawing his hand from laying the rose, the Shadow Priest then looked up towards the Bishop, and their eyes met. “We all serve the balance one way or the other.” The dark cleric told him cryptically, his accent unusual and foreign sounding. “Shadow cannot exist without Light, nor Light Shadow. I honor her service to this truth.”

 

“Indeed.” Marcus replied, not certain of how to respond. “As do we all.”

 

And then the Shadow Priest surprised him by saying, “The Light has chosen its path, and we all must choose our own as well, to follow or not as the case may be.”

 

“This much is true, er... friend.” Marcus answered, surprised yet again at his own agreement with the man. _Perhaps we have more in common than I once believed._

 

The man before him gave a slight bow, and made to depart saying, “The will of the Light be done, your grace.”

 

And then the Shadow Priest moved on without another word, leaving the clergyman to ponder his intriguing if enigmatic words and their meaning.

 

“Yes... Yes, it must, must it not?” He whispered to himself.

 

* * *

 

Later that evening...

 

The body of the devout woman had been carefully wrapped and reverently laid in the stone niche set aside for those of her rank within the Church. And then those attending to her had left, leaving the catacombs underneath the Cathedral silent and dark once again, a place of rest and peace on and under consecrated ground.

 

Nearby, a brown rat scurried in the darkness, looking for anything the intruders might have dropped, or even a cockroach that might have wandered into its territory. It shuffled on its pink clawed feet sniffing this way and that, trying to find anything it could in the silence of the sacred dead.

 

And then a glow caught its eye and it thought the humans might have returned. It ran away from the increasing glow and back to its hole in fear of being caught and killed by them. Humans didn't like to share what they had with its kind, the rat knew.

 

But the glow came from the newly laid body of the High Priestess. A golden white light enveloped her body from head to foot until it was completely surrounded by Holy Light. Around Laurena's niche, the remains of her predecessors and other Holy clergy began to glow with the same golden, gentle Light.

 

The Light spread from corpse to corpse and even bones which had dried and fallen from their remains began to glow until the entire length of the Church's catacombs was afire with the Light emanating from the remains of the Holy.

 

And then, suddenly, all was dark and still once more.

 

And the catacombs were empty.

 

* * *

In the Hillsbrad Foothills...

 

In spite of the warmth of sunlight on his face, Grayson Shadowbreaker's walk to the town of Tarren Mill had been in total darkness, led only by the firm, calloused, feminine sword hand of his friend and sister in arms, Katharine, surnamed “The Pure” for her devotion and piety. In his other hand had been placed a still green staff which she had cut from a sapling to aide his stumbling walk on the old paved road.

 

They knew their best chance at reaching Tarren Mill unmolested would be to appear as common travelers on the road. Before his “vision” he would have thought the idea suicide, assuming that those others in the region only appeared human and would strip the flesh from his bones with their teeth if they got the chance. But now, his belief about it had been badly shaken, and he couldn't fight without his sight regardless. He could learn, as he had heard others had, but it would take time in honing his other senses which he had not yet spent.

 

Grayson's armor and weapon were useless to him. The familiar weight of his plate armor was gone from his well muscled warrior frame. Stripped of that armor, he wore only the padded trousers, vest and sweat stained shirt that had been underneath to prevent chafing. His feet were shod only with the leather hobnail boots which had previously been covered by his greaves. His hammer had been left in the care of Durothian Rall and the other knights he had been leading. He had done so in the belief that he might one day reclaim it.

 

Katharine's gentle grip had been skin to skin with his own hand. It humbled him deeply that she would have to lead him about by the hand, and he was grateful to her for standing by him even at the risk of her own life. It had been agreed between them that she too would shed her armor to appear less threatening, and so, though he could not see her, he imagined that her clothing must have matched his closely. He knew she was a beautiful woman, in spirit as well as appearance. In spite of the temptation, he refused to imagine her without her armor any other way than clothed like himself. He respected her chastity and devotion too much to do that to her, even secretly.

 

The walk along the road had been long and taken most of the day until he began to feel the warmth on his face waning as evening began to fall. From their starting position in the forest, it would have been faster for them to pass through the trees and ford the river directly to the town. But that had been the plan before he had been blinded and they had the protection of armor, weapons, and eight other warriors to deal with the wildlife which could prove fatal.

 

Not so with an unarmored woman and blind man. They had been forced to find the road to the south of them and follow it on foot in a circuitous route around the foothills.

 

Their communication had also been mostly silent throughout the day. They talked briefly when they needed to rest, or when Katharine needed to inform him of an obstacle. But other than that, he remained consumed by what had happened to him, and Katharine too had not seemed ready to discuss what she had witnessed and heard.

 

It just didn't make any sense. Briefly he wondered if he had hallucinated the whole thing when his head smacked the ground from the fall. He had known people who had lost their sight after hitting their heads, and others who had experienced vivid waking dreams. It would have made perfect sense.

 

But a hallucination couldn't heal a man dying on the ground from a seventy foot fall onto his back through trees. Grayson had been dying. He knew that for certain. He had tasted the blood in his mouth. He had felt his life slipping from him. It was a memory he would not forget.

 

 _I am Jeshua... and I am the Holy Light._ The vision had told him. Two statements that had been in complete opposition before that day. They were two statements which had been the epitome of blasphemy against the sacred. They were two statements that he could not reconcile, but also two statements that he could not ignore. There had been times during that day when Grayson had wondered if his very sanity had left him, and then there were times when he knew it threatened to as he tried to make sense of all of it.

 

 _His grace had met the man! Bishop Marcus saw with his own eyes what had happened at Darrowshire! How could such a man be so totally wrong?_ It was a problem to which he had few answers.

 

 _How could I be so totally wrong?_ This was the more pressing question in his mind.

 

Born of lesser nobility in Elwynn Forest, Grayson Shadowbreaker had served the Light for most of his life, having been knighted in Stormwind Keep and consecrated in the Cathedral at the tender age of eighteen. It was there he had taken the Paladin surname “Shadowbreaker,” giving up his family name for service as a warrior of the Light. He had studied the Tome of Divinity as well as the Tome of Valor, the Paladin's addition to the sacred texts. He knew as well as any priest what was possible with the Light and what wasn't. He had taught squires and knights the sacred works and their meaning for decades, and had overseen their spiritual formation alongside the clergy. If anyone should be able to recognize the presence of the Light and what it could and could not do it would have been Lord Grayson Shadowbreaker. The Light had been his trusted companion and guide on battlefield after battlefield, and through the darkest times in his life. He knew its presence.

 

And this is what he could not reconcile. He _did_ know the Light's presence. He _did_ know it intimately, and recognized when it was at work. He was certain it had been the Light speaking to him that morning.

 

 _I felt the Light speaking to me._ It was inescapable.

 

He had felt it once more as he lay on the ground with a collapsed lung and broken bones. The Light, his trusted companion and source of power, had come to him once more, but it wore Jeshua's face when it did, and it wore the heretic's face when it healed him itself.

 

 _What is happening to me?_ He asked himself silently again and again.

 

Katharine had heard the voice of his vision, but did not see anything. The woman Paladin also had not said anything about it, or mention it at all during their long journey towards the Horde controlled town.

 

They had passed others also traveling on the road, though did not speak with them. The highway north of Southshore leading to the town of Tarren Mill appeared to be fairly busy. Grayson had heard horses, carts, and the sounds of conversations pass them several times. No one bothered them, and to his relief, no one appeared to be interested in fileting them for a meal either. It sounded and felt for all the world no different from the traffic on the roads of his native Elwynn Forest. It smelled of it as well with the stench of sweating human bodies and horse excrement on the road which Katharine did her best to navigate the blind man's feet around.

 

It was when he made this observation that the realization came over him, _It does smell and feel the same. The sounds are the sounds of human life and traffic. My eyes can be fooled by glamour magic, but can all my senses be?_ Not being a Mage, he didn't know the answer to that question, but he doubted it. Even the most powerful arcane magic had its limitations.

 

They turned east down the hard packed dirt road to the town shortly after the warmth of the day had completely left Grayson's skin, and Katharine had informed him that the sun had completely gone down in the western Alterac mountains.

 

“What do you see?” He asked her, breaking his silence.

 

“Old buildings that look like they're under repair.” She responded discreetly. “A row of them to both sides of the road. There appears to be a covered well in the center of town, and a large church like building at the other end of town. Those people I can see appear human, standing and talking or moving from one place to the other. Two human guards in armor, swords and shields, patrolling the incoming road, but I don't recognize the tabard or colors. It's not Forsaken. Looks similar to Argent Crusade, but has a red humanoid cross emblem in the center against a door shape. An Orc in armor near the well, Horde tabard and colors, two handed battleaxe. Three more at the end of town near the church. Armored human guards near the perimeter around the town, lances.”

 

“Are we drawing any attention?” He asked.

 

“No. We don't appear to be.” She responded.

 

“Is there an inn visible?” He then asked.

 

“I'm not sure. The town doesn't look like it follows the old war blueprints. There looks to be a building which could be one at the other end of town near the church.” She replied.

 

“Head there.” He told her. “We can ask about the man I was told of.”

 

Katharine's grip on his hand remained as she led him forward across the hard packed ground of the town. Each of his footfalls was still uncertain as he could only trust his friend that she would not lead him astray as he placed them.

 

“You there! Woman! I don't recognize you!” A gruff, gravelly voice called out.

 

“Orc by the well.” Katharine told Grayson discreetly.

 

“What's your business in Tarren Mill?” The Orc questioned gruffly, his voice growing closer as Katharine continued to lead the blind Paladin forward..

 

“We're looking for a man called Andrew Haleis.” Grayson responded. “We were told he might be here.”

 

“The emissary? I have not seen any of them since Jeshua... visited here.” The Orc replied, though his tone was not hostile. “Last I heard they were all in Lordaeron. I've not heard of any planned visits here, though I suppose it's possible.”

 

The Orc then went silent for a minute as though studying something. “You're both already living. Why would you be looking for one of Jeshua's emissaries?”

 

Grayson then let go of Katharine's hand and pointed at his eyes. “I was told he could give me back my sight.” He answered honestly enough.

 

The Orc was quiet for a few seconds then responded, “Well, I don't get told everything. Maybe he'll be here tomorrow. Night's fallen. The inn's that way if you need a room. We haven't had too many strangers in town today. There should still be some available.”

 

“Thanks, friend.” Grayson found himself replying without irony.

 

“I saw Jeshua himself change this entire town from undead to living. I've heard of the emissaries doing things priests and shamans could only dream of.” The Orc then added. “If anyone could restore your eyes, it would be one of them.”

 

Grayson nodded in the general direction of the Orc's voice before he and his guide continued on.

 

“Not what I expected.” Katharine remarked after they were out of the Orc's earshot. “What do we do now if this man isn't here after all? Lordaeron is another week maybe on foot.”

 

“We've been walking all day. Neither of us can keep going much farther without food and rest.” Grayson responded.

 

Then Katharine said, “The Orc did point us to the inn. We should rest there until the morning. We can try to start back for Aerie Peak after sun up.”

 

“The vision said he would be here.” Grayson then pointed out. “I don't know how to explain it, I just know it was the Light speaking to me. I've got to see this through. I'm here now where _I_ was told to be. If you want to head back in the morning, you're free to do it.”

 

“Durothian was right. You are a stubborn ass, Grayson.” She told him. “Do you really think I'd leave you here to your fate alone?”

 

“Let's get to the inn then and see if this 'emissary' arrives.” Grayson told her, smirking at her comment.

 

After entering the structure the Orc had pointed out, Katharine had introduced Grayson as her blind brother to the innkeeper with as little conversation as possible and requested a room. Grayson had heard the silver coins his companion had carried counted out into the innkeeper's hand and then she had taken his own once more and led him up the stairs to the inn's bedrooms and into one of the chambers where he heard the door close and lock behind them.

 

That night had been spent with little sleep and little enough food. The innkeeper had apologized to the woman Paladin that their hospitality was a little lacking for the meager supplies of meat, flour, and other foodstuffs for the moment.

 

“I'm happy to share what we've got, it's just not much right now. There's a little bit of game meat left from what a couple of hunters brought in to trade this morning.” The kind sounding man had told them. “What Jeshua did for us all created a whole bunch of living mouths to feed that we didn't have before.” His voice became almost worshipful when he mentioned the man's name. “It's a good problem to have, but it still leaves everyone a bit short at the moment until the new wheat's been planted. Lordaeron and the Argent Crusade are doing everything they can to help with supplies, and I've heard there's a boatload of livestock coming in from Kalimdor soon. The queen's made sure the Horde's taking care of its own. Our local food stocks should even out after next harvest I hope.”

 

 _Why would they need more human edible food if it was all an illusion?_ Grayson had asked himself honestly. The man's use of the word “Lordaeron” instead of the “the Undercity” caught his notice as well. There was a touch of pride there as he spoke of the capital, shared only by the surreality of when he spoke of the Horde taking care of its own.

 

“It's more than the Alliance ever did for us, that's for sure.” The Innkeeper added as the two took the keys and headed upstairs.

 

Grayson didn't know if he visibly winced at the comment or not, but it was painful regardless.

 

Having been led upstairs, Grayson had chivalrously refused to take the bed once in the room, even as Katharine had pointed out she would be the one doing the fighting if it came down to that. His ability to keep watch was also at issue under the circumstances. But he insisted.

 

“I don't think I can sleep anyways.” He told her after she had led his hand to the back of a wooden chair in the room not far from the door.

 

He could feel the grain of the wood under his own rough hands, and could feel that it was newly sanded and smoothed. There was the fresh cut wood smell about it as well. Finding the seat with his fingers, he put his hind end into it and remained there.

 

It was true enough as he said it. He was frustrated that he had been told to come here to meet a man who was a hundred miles away across the mountains. It felt like someone was mocking him. What was worse was that he was certain that it had been the Light that had guided him there.

 

 _It had been the Light which had healed me. Nothing else could have kept me from death._ There was no other conclusion. _It had been the Light which had spoken to me._

 

* * *

 

Elsewhere in Tarren Mill that night...

 

Andrew Haleis had never ridden on the back of a riding bat before. After having done so, he wasn't sure he wanted to ever do it again. But when his teacher Jeshua had appeared to him in a vision earlier in the day instructing him to fly to Tarren Mill, he had obeyed.

 

He had been alone in the cloister room he shared with his brother trying to pray. His knees complained severely at the posture he had assumed next to his bed. Prayer itself didn't come naturally to the fisherman. He had been a man of few words most of his life, and didn't ask for help or anything easily. What little he had before meeting Jeshua he had worked for by fishing and selling his catch in the port town. But Jeshua had been his friend as well as his teacher, and prayer was one of the few ways he had left to spend time with him anymore.

 

“Andrew!” He had heard Jeshua's voice out of the blue in the silence of the room, and opened his eyes in surprise when he had.

 

“Jeshua?” He had asked aloud into the empty chamber. Then, not seeing anything, he asked, “Where are you?”

 

And then the whole room filled with warm, welcoming light, brighter than the sun but not harsh to his eyes at all. “I'm always with you, my friend. I want you to do something for me.” Came the answer.

 

“Yeah, of course, teacher. What do you need?” Andrew had responded.

 

“There's a man in Tarren Mill named Grayson Shadowbreaker. I want you to go there and heal his sight for me.” Jeshua's voice responded.

 

Andrew recognized the name. The queen, Sylvanas Windrunner, had mentioned it upon return from her peace talks with the Alliance king.

 

“Isn't he the man who tried to have everyone in Darrowshire killed again?” He asked. “Sylvanas said something about that, Jeshua.”

 

“Yes, he is.” Jeshua had confirmed for him. “And it is for this reason he will be my emissary to Stormwind, to bring my Holy Light into the increasing darkness there. You need to meet him at the inn. He will have gotten a room there by the time you arrive. Ask the innkeeper for the blind man and the woman who led him there.”

 

Andrew had spent enough time with his teacher to know that Jeshua was always right, no matter how strange what he said seemed. “Yeah, I can do that, teacher.” He told the Light that had surrounded him. “Anything else?”

 

“Send him to Lordaeron when you have restored his sight. He has much to learn before he is ready to be used.” Jeshua had responded.

 

After the Light had faded, Andrew hadn't wasted any time. The old flightmaster's niche had been located deep underground in the Undercity, but most of those tunnels had been abandoned in the weeks following the New Dawn. The bat handler, a man named Michael Garrett, had relocated his animals to the surface near the gates of the city. Garrett had assured the emissary that his bats were well trained and that all he had to do was hold on and the animal would find its way to Tarren Mill on its own.

 

It had, but Andrew had felt as though his stomach had not successfully made the trip with him.

 

It had been after dark by the time Andrew had landed and his own bare feet had touched the ground. His shoes had given out weeks ago, and since then he had adopted his teacher's regular habit of going unshod as a poor man. If it had been good enough for Jeshua, it would be good enough for Andrew Haleis.

 

Following his teacher's instructions, he went straight to the inn, recognizing it from his one and only previous visit to the town. That was the visit where everything had changed and the whole world had been set on a new path. In the darkness of the night, it didn't appear as though anyone had recognized him, but that was just as well. He had a mission from Jeshua. Catching up with people would have to wait.

 

Entering the building, he did just as Jeshua had asked and talked to the innkeeper, a middle aged man with red hair named Shay. He had gotten to know him a little on their journey north to Hearthglen and had struck up, if not a friendship, then an acquaintanceship with him.

 

“It's good to see you again, Andrew.” The clean shaven, pale skinned man had greeted him. He wore dark trousers and vest over a blue linen shirt. “Yeah, I know the folks you're talking about. They just checked in an hour ago. They said they were brother and sister, though I didn't see any resemblance. Had a strange accent too, but I thought it was just 'cause they were from out near Stratholme maybe. Makes no difference to me, I'm not one to judge if their coin is good. Their room's upstairs and to the right. I've got another one empty next to theirs if you want it for the night. No charge, of course. Not for you, friend.”

 

Andrew thanked the man, then headed upstairs to knock on the wooden door Shay had told him. He rapped against it several times before he could hear the bolt being undone from the other side. It creeped open until a crack appeared and an attractive woman's face emerged. She looked to be between thirty and forty years old with orangish red, shoulder length hair. Through the crack in the door he could see that she wore a travel stained padded woolen vest over a dirty long sleeve linen shirt. They were the kind of clothes he would see on occasion that soldiers would wear under their plate armor.

 

“Yes, can I help you?” The woman asked, her voice authoritative and firm. It was the voice of someone used to giving orders.

 

“I'm looking for a man named Grayson Shadowbreaker.” Andrew told her. He then added, “My name's Andrew. Jeshua sent me.”

 

The effect of his words appeared immediate as the woman's eyes went wide with surprise, and then the color drained from her features as though she had seen a ghost.

 

From behind her, he could hear a man's voice, “Who is it, Katharine?”

 

She tried to recover her composure, but the fisherman could see she was having trouble.

 

“You're Andrew Haleis?” She asked, her words careful and deliberate, and loud enough for the man behind her to hear.

 

“Yes. Is Grayson here?” Andrew asked again. “It's important that I see him.”

 

The woman then backed away from the door, a look of fear and uncertainty in her eyes which would not leave the man. On its own, the door opened wider and the emissary stepped into the room looking around it.

 

The inn room was pretty spartan. There was a four poster bed against the far wall, a writing desk and a chair under a window, and little else. In the chair sat a man with dark hair and goatee, a day's worth of beard stubble on his cheeks. An eyepatch covered his right eye, though there didn't look to be any sight in the other one either as it didn't appear to be focused on anything in the room. Like the woman, he wore the padded vest and trousers of a soldier used to wearing plate armor.

 

Andrew walked over to where the man sat. “Grayson Shadowbreaker?” He asked him.

 

“Yes.” The blind man replied.

 

Andrew then stretched out his hand to cover his useless eyes with his hand and said matter-of-factly, “Jeshua Lightborn restores your sight. Be healed.”

 

A bright Light flashed between Andrew's hand and Grayson's eyes. When Andrew withdrew his hand, the warrior was blinking his eye repeatedly. Then, in surprise he reached up and pulled off the eye patch and looked at the emissary with two good eyes.

 

“Thank you, friend.” Grayson responded.

 

“Don't thank me.” Andrew answered. “Thank Jeshua. He's the one who told me to come and find you here.”


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 

In the City of Lordaeron...

 

Miriam sat in a pew alone in the Light filled Cathedral. The seat where she sat directly faced the front of the altar which was the central focus of the sanctuary. It was not terribly unlike the altar in Stormwind's Cathedral, except that the large copy of the Tome of Divinity which would usually be displayed as the center focus had been placed open towards the far left hand corner of the marble table's surface. In its place, drawing the eye from the unusually placed tome was a single, large, silver chalice. From where she sat, she could see the words “THIS IS MY PACT WITH YOU” freshly engraved just below the rim.

 

In the silence, she wondered what the silver cup was doing so intentionally and prominently placed. She wondered the same about the engraved words and what pact they were referring to. The Worgen's pact came to mind briefly, but she dismissed the thought. It had been Gilnean Worgen who had saved her and her infant son during the fall of Gilneas, and she had been grateful for it, but she had never been comfortable around them.

 

 _This place is too filled with the Light to allow that shadow to be cast on it._ She had thought.

 

It was evening, and the sun had already dipped below the western mountains. She had just eaten supper with the rest of her family in an apartment not far from the old church. The residence had been assigned to them by a city official once it had been discovered that Joseph and his sons were master carpenters, a trade skill of which the City of Lordaeron was in desperate need as living quarters continued to be renovated for the living. Beds, tables, chairs, and other furniture which hadn't been needed for the undead had to be produced from timbers coming in from newly erected lumber camps around the resurrected kingdom. Soon, Miriam's husband and sons had found themselves with no shortage of work while they attempted to discover what Jeshua had meant for them to find here.

 

It had been several days since her family had arrived in the northern Horde controlled capital city, and it was a _Horde_ city in spite of all the humans working and living there now. Occasionally she would see an Orc warrior passing by, a Sindorei Paladin on horseback, or a Tauren herbalist seeing to the health needs of the people there. She had witnessed one such female Tauren tending gently to a human laborer who had broken his hand while working. Miriam had never encountered a Tauren before, but the woman seemed so sweet yet noble as she healed the man with a combination of nature magic and her potions. The herbalist had caught her staring and offered her a confused smile in return. Miriam did her best to try and return the genuinely friendly gesture with a little awkwardness as possible before she moved on.

 

There was no question, however, that the city was now in _human_ hands. There were times when, in spite of its very human occupation, she kept reminding herself that Lordaeron was still under the control of the Horde and the same people who invaded Gilneas City. She wanted to be angry at them for that reason. She wanted to be angry at the Horde for taking the birth place of the Alliance _of Lordaeron_ away from them.

 

But as those first few days went by, she had also been confronted by the reality that, far from being held by a foreign invading force, Lordaeron was being occupied by its own people. Those few that she had spoken to out of necessity would often speak of where in the city they had lived before the plague, or if not in the city, they would talk about the farm or village elsewhere in Tirisfal Glades, near Andorhal, or farther east. Not a few spoke of loved ones which had not survived into the undeath and, though they were missed, those that spoke of them were thankful that they had been spared the living nightmare which the Lich King had forced upon them.

 

In spite of her son's admonition to find his followers, she had not come to the Cathedral at first. Neither she nor her husband had, even though it was clear within a short amount of time that was where Jeshua's emissaries would be found. The events leading up to their arrival had still weighed on all of them heavily. While Jeshua himself might have been gone, the impact he had left on this country and this people in so short of a time as he was here was everywhere to be seen and heard. It was inescapable. The reminders of her son ranged from the stories of the people, to the very flags flying from the ramparts.

 

Nowhere in the city, however, had her son's mark been more felt than in the entry courtyard. Every visitor to the City of Lordaeron now was confronted with the evidence of both his horrendous death and his self-resurrection. There had been the door, still stained with his blood, to which he had been nailed. There had also been the empty shallow grave and the broken, unadorned cover stone. Both had been left exactly as they were by the queen's orders, and remained under respectful honor guard to keep them from being disturbed.

 

As his mother it had been both wonderful to see, and heavy on her heart as she knew the people around her had spent more time with her son as a man than he had given her. And this was even more so with his emissaries. She had loved her son deeply since the day her pregnancy had been revealed to her. She had loved him even when he had chosen to leave to find his own path. In truth, she wanted to get to know her son through those who had been closest to him, but she was also resentful that they had known him better than she in his adult life. In some ways, she felt like he had chosen them over her and that feeling hurt her deeply. For this reason, she had avoided the Cathedral of Light where they were most often to be found until that evening when it was empty and she could enter on her own terms.

 

“Calia?” The surprised but kindly voice of an elderly man asked aloud from across the sanctuary, interrupting her thoughts.

 

Startled that someone else had entered the sanctuary, Miriam withdrew her eyes from the altar and looked towards the source of the voice. In the full, shadowless, perpetual light of the Cathedral's interior the owner of the voice was clearly visible as an elderly man with a balding head and graying goatee. The man wore simple white, gilded priestly vestments signifying his faith in and allegiance to the Holy Light.

 

“I thought we agreed you wouldn't return to the city until I sent word it was safe for you to come.” The older man said in a low voice but loud enough for her to hear. He looked directly at Miriam. “There is still too much I don't know regarding Sylvanas' true disposition towards you. It still may be too much of a risk.”

 

 _He's talking to me?_ Miriam then questioned as the man continued to stare directly at her, addressing her. She then slowly stood up to face him, folding her hands at her waist in the attempt to present herself calmly.

 

In truth, the mention of the former banshee's name in connection with anything to do with her terrified her. This was especially true since she had already seen that Sylvanas Windrunner had some personal connection to her son to begin with.

 

“I'm sorry, but I think you have me confused with someone else, Brother. My name is Miriam. Miriam Davidson.” She replied to him politely but nervously. “I don't think I should have heard any part of that. Perhaps I should go. It is getting late.”

 

She then moved to exit the pew and head towards the foyer of the church, though not before noticing the look of intense confusion, and a little fear on the Priest's face at his mistake. As she entered the blue carpeted aisle between the sections of seating, she heard him repeat her name to himself, “Miriam? … Miriam …” as though trying to remember something important. And then she heard him say something that froze her where she stood.

 

“No... It can't be, can it? After all these years? I left her in the cloister.” The Priest's soft words, spoken paternally and in a familial way, reached her ears. “But she's the spitting image.”

 

She turned again to face him, her own expression both curious and fearful all at once. “I'm sorry?”

 

“Miriam Menethil?” The older man asked, his voice uncertain and tinged with trepidation. “That is your name, isn't it?”

 

Miriam went rigid for just a second. Her maiden name had only been a cause for jest at times between her husband and herself. In this place however, she knew what weight of history the name “Menethil” carried, and her mind began racing with what potential dangers to herself and her family should it have been discovered.

 

 _What was Jeshua thinking telling us to come here?_ The thought came unbidden to her as she struggled to keep herself calm.

 

“It was, before I married, but I am no one, Brother. I was an orphan as an infant as a matter of fact. It is only a coincidence and nothing more.” Miriam then replied. “Please, I need to return to my family.”

 

She had meant to turn towards the door, exit the Cathedral quickly, and then alert her family to the possible danger they all might be in for her supposed ancestry. This is what she meant to do. And then she looked at the older man once more.

 

All the color had drained from the man's face as though he had just seen one of the banshees or phantasms which had roamed that land prior to the New Dawn. His eyes were misted over. It looked for all the world as if a weight had settled on his shoulders.

 

“Light forgive me.” The older priest had exclaimed quietly, but loud enough that she heard it.

 

In spite of her fear, her heart went out to him, and she asked, “Are you alright, Brother? Is there any way I can help you?”

 

He closed his eyes while raising them to the vaulted ceiling, sniffled a little as though fighting back tears, shook his head, and then put up a hand to stop her. He then remained silent for a short time as though deep in thought.

 

When he spoke again, he asked, “May I ask you a question, Miriam...? I'm sorry, I don't know your married name.”

 

It had been the first thing she had told him, but she repeated it anyway, “Davidson. Miriam Davidson, Brother...?”

 

“Alonsus Faol.” He responded with a slight smile. “Once, long ago before the Scourge, I was the Archbishop in this Cathedral, though I served first in Stratholme. I have only recently come home as well, thanks to what Jeshua Lightborn has done for us.” Bishop Faol replied, using the name of her son with the same reverence that everyone in the city had used.

 

Miriam had certainly heard the man's name before when she was a child many times. It was often spoken in hushed tones as though one were speaking of a saint or even a myth. Her eyes went wide with respect for the man. His reputation for generosity and as a kind, devoted servant of the Holy Light was legendary even among those sisters of the cloister she had been raised in.

 

“Oh, I am so sorry, your grace! I meant no disrespect!” She said, embarrassed and unsure of herself.

 

“Don't be, child.” He replied humbly. “That was a long time ago, in another lifetime. It seems I have led several since then.” He then added in jest, “Some not so living as others.”

 

Miriam smiled, but then said, “As was my maiden name another lifetime ago, your grace.” She hoped that he was indeed the man she had heard of. That man would certainly never betray her confidence or put her or her family into harm's way. “I have not gone by Miriam Menethil since not long after Gilneas City fell, after the Cataclysm. I hope you can see your way to leave it between us.”

 

“Gilneas City?” He then asked, though his tone of voice suggested it was not unexpected.

 

“Yes, I was raised in the Cathedral cloister there.” She informed him.

 

He nodded in response, a knowing look in his eyes as he said quietly to himself, “Of course you were. How could you not be?”

 

“My family name is safe with you, isn't it, your grace?” She then inquired again hopefully, a hint of fear in her voice.

 

“Absolutely, Mrs. Davidson. No one in _this city_ will know of it from me, not even the Queen. You have my word.” The older clergyman told her.

 

 _No one in this city_. He then repeated silently to himself in his thoughts, another face very much like hers coming to his mind.

 

Relief flooded her body when she heard that, closing her eyes she silently thanked the Light. She then told him, “Thank you, your grace. My husband is a good man, and my children are everything to me. I couldn't bear it if...”

 

“Say no more about it. You are Miriam Davidson as far as this city and its Queen is concerned.” He replied before she could find the words to finish. He then asked, “Will you and your family be attending services?”

 

“I...” The truth was, she hadn't known herself. Her faith and her relationship with the Light had defined who she was her entire life, and it had also become increasingly complicated and strained over the last several years. “I'm not certain. Our last experience with the Church had been very difficult.”

 

“And why is that, daughter?” The bishop asked kindly, one might even say grandfatherly.

 

Her eyes misted and her voice quavered as she said it, “Jeshua was my son.” She then confessed to the much older cleric. “The clergy in Stormwind had turned against him. They said awful, untrue, horrible things about him, and my husband and I wouldn't stand for it. And... and... ”

 

And then it was as if a dam had broken and all of the emotion which had been building within her had just exploded forth and she sat back down involuntarily in the nearest pew and began to sob bringing her hands to her face, saying, “He was my son. I loved him and he was my son. I didn't... I didn't get to...”

 

Her eyes were closed tight as she tried to rein in the pain she had been holding for so long, and found that she couldn't. Her whole body began to shake from it, and deep wracking sobs jolted her whole body. “I loved him. I loved my son. I just wanted him back, and now he's gone for good.”

 

She didn't see the next look of shock run through the bishop's entire body as the full implications of what she said pieced themselves together in his mind. She didn't see either when his vested form then unfroze, empathy written all over his face, and moved quickly to stand next to her, his hands already aglow with the Light.

 

She then felt a kindly, elderly hand on her shoulder. Warmth and peace flowed from it as the Holy Light reached in and touched her with its own embrace.

 

 _I'm always here, mother. I always will be. I love you too._ She didn't hear the words as much as feel them within herself. _I always have, and I always will._

 

“Jeshua?” She asked aloud in surprise, half expecting to see his face when she opened her eyes. Instead, she saw the kindly face of Bishop Faol, his own closed eyes wet with tears as he placed both his hands on her shoulders and prayed over her intensely, calling on the Light to comfort and soothe her.

 

But she felt her son's presence around her and within her as the bishop spoke his healing prayers over her, rivulets from his eyes streaming down his own, aged face.

 

“The Holy Light has blessed you and used you in more ways than you can know, Miriam Davidson.” The Priest spoke over her. He then repeated himself cryptically in a low voice, “...in more ways than you can know.”

 

Not knowing what else to say, she responded, “Thank you, your grace.”

 

“Please, if you would be so kind, I would like to meet the rest of yours and Jeshua's family.” Bishop Faol asked her. “It would mean a great deal to me.”

 

“Of... of course, your grace. I'm certain we would all be honored.” She responded, relaxing as the man's hands held her comfortingly by the shoulders.

 

She didn't know why, but she felt as though she had been held by those same hands before.

 

* * *

 

In Orgrimmar...

 

Sylvanas Windrunner, wearing her signature blue, ranger general's hood and mail armor walked the packed dirt streets of Orgrimmar late that Durotar morning. An elven recurve bow and quiver of arrows were secured to her back. To her right was the High Overlord of the Orcs, Varok Saurfang. To her left was Lor'themar Theron, Regent Lord of Silvermoon City in Quel'Thalas, the land of her birth. The air in the canyon city was warm, but not unbearably so. The scents of desert wildflowers and new growth had come into the Horde capital on breezes from elsewhere in Durotar and flushed out the overpowering, rank smells that had previously assaulted the nose of anyone who entered it.

 

Around her, shops were open and filled with new goods. As she passed by the local inn known as “The Broken Tusk” raucous laughter could be heard coming from within its depths as old warriors loudly boasted of exploits in battle which may or may not have occurred as they told it. At the door, a Tauren warrior, Gamon, known to her for his bravery at the Siege of Orgrimmar where Garrosh Hellscream had been defeated by the combined forces of the Horde and the Alliance and overthrown, stood up straight at the sight of his Warchief and gave a heartfelt salute with his right fist, which she acknowledged and returned. Joining him at the door was the innkeeper, Gryshka. She had a smile on her face as she too, saluted her Warchief.

 

That same smile was uncharacteristically found on much of the city's populace as she observed them. Unexpectedly, she now found that those people had a more ready smile for her in particular where none had been found before the New Dawn. There was a genuine feeling of hope which had blown through the city along with the desert fragrances.

 

Sylvanas had spent as much time as she could over the last several weeks attending to the needs of her own people in Lordaeron, but she could not neglect the rest of the Horde forever. This was especially so since Saurfang had generously, and without her ordering it, sent livestock and supplies from Durotar to Lordaeron to help with the rebuilding efforts. Baine Bloodhoof had also generously sent the behemoth kodos and flightless plainstriders as breeding stock for Lordaeron's ranches and farms. They weren't the cattle and chickens which the people had been used to prior to the plague, but they would serve the same purposes. The people of Lordaeron would adapt and survive. Of this, she was certain.

 

The people of Quel'Thalas however had another set of problems which were harder to solve. Most of those human people who had been reborn in Lordaeron remembered their last thirty years as undead, and their alliance with the Horde against the Alliance. The same could not be said of Quel'Thalas. Those reborn elves had previously been mindless ghouls, shades, and other scourged walking corpses. They knew nothing of what had transpired since Arthas stormed through their homeland. Lor'themar had found himself the leader of a nation now almost ten times its previous size, the overwhelming majority of which believed themselves to be, not Sin'dorei, but _Quel'dorei_ and part of the Alliance. They had all come to Silvermoon City in confusion after the New Dawn seeking answers and supplies to find their own monarchy dead, and their rulers allied with the Horde. Supply ships which had been sent from Orgrimmar had been mistakenly fired upon by archers and Mages not understanding their purpose. Those ships had been forced to turn back by confused captains and injured crews.

 

Lor'themar had been forced to hold council meeting after uncomfortable council meeting to explain the last thirty years to much of his people, and much to his dismay, he had been forced to include Sylvanas' sisters, Vereesa and Alleria Windrunner, both staunch Alliance loyalists, in those discussions at the insistence of the newly reborn town leaders of Quel'Thalas. The warchief's siblings had somehow learned of the new developments and taken advantage of the risen population's ignorance, inserting themselves into what was an already complicated situation. Old and current animosities had erupted once more and the elven nation was in turmoil as it sought to rediscover itself.

 

Theron Lor'themar's position as regent lord had become increasingly uncertain, and his people's historic relationship with the kingdom of Lordaeron was one of the few ties he could build upon to restore some kind of stability as both kingdoms were now in the process of awakening and rebuilding, and Lordaeron was still firmly in the hands of the Horde.

 

“Your sisters have been advocating Silvermoon's return to the Alliance.” Lor'themar told the Warchief as they walked. “And many are listening.”

 

“Of course they have. Vereesa has been advocating little else for almost a decade, and Alleria only remembers the second war and her hatred for the Horde forty years ago.” Sylvanas responded before adding, “I was led to believe you banished Alleria from Quel'Thalas entirely for the incident at the Sunwell.”

 

“I had.” Lor'themar replied. “As I had Vereesa for her political activities except where the Sunwell is concerned. Vereesa too is a daughter of Quel'Thalas and the Sunwell is also her birthright. Alleria resurfaced among the reborn population as a hero with whom they are familiar within the last week. They are protecting her so that I can no longer forcibly expel her. Her _opinions,_ ” he drew the word out in irritation, “only serve to reinforce the current misunderstandings with Orgrimmar's supply ships and make our difficulties worse.”

 

“ _Misunderstandings._ ” Saurfang growled, testing the word as the three of them continued to walk. “An interesting choice of words, Blood Elf. Three ships sent with aid for you turned back with burned sails and holes blasted in their hulls by our own _allies_. Good sea dogs burned and impaled by elven arrows. If these _misunderstandings_ continue, Silvermoon will _misunderstand_ itself to its own destruction. Already my people demand justice for the attacks. _Orc justice._ They will not be satisfied with my calls for patience much longer. Eventually, the worg that continues to bite the hand that feeds it must be either taught to respect its master or put down.”

 

Saurfang then spat into the dirt as if to emphasize his own disgust with the situation.

 

“Have you heard anything more from Stormwind's boy-king since our talks?” Lor'themar asked her as they entered the long stretch of shops and homes in the city known as “The Drag”. “Or is that all it was? Just talk.”

 

“Anduin has sent no word since Light's Hope Chapel, but our spies tell us that the Alliance forces are pulling back and standing down here in Kalimdor, Northrend, and the Eastern Kingdoms.” Sylvanas replied. “It appears he meant what he said.”

 

“It would help greatly if you would come to Silvermoon yourself, Warchief.” Lor'themar then told her. “Many have asked to hear from you as well. Especially now, since your own rebirth, the Quel'dorei would recognize and listen to you just as much as to your sisters. They remember you from before the Scourge. You could set the record straight, so to speak, where our relationship with the Horde is concerned.”

 

They continued on until Sylvanas happened to spy an Orc child, a boy, playing with a little blue skinned troll girl near the door to what she knew to be Orgrimmar's orphanage. She stopped to watch them and those with her stopped as well, uncertain as to what had caused the Horde leader to pause.

 

 _How many times have I passed by this door and never once paid it any attention?_ She asked herself internally.

 

The two children could not have been more than two or three years of age at the most, but already they were playing at being warriors. It was what they had seen all of their short lives. Then Sylvanas had noticed the other children as well. Some were still losing their baby teeth. Some still wore cloth diapers as they were led around otherwise naked on dirty bare feet by the older residents of the orphanage. All of them had lost their parents to the constant conflicts which afflicted their world. Either to Legion blades, Kaldorei glaives, Stormwind swords, or to the honor duels among the Orcs which always ended fatally, it made no difference to these little ones. Their parents were taken from them.

 

Suddenly, the elven Warchief found that totally unacceptable and even abhorrent. She had been given the responsibility of leading these people even though they weren't her own, and what had she done with it? She had thrown them into further conflicts, used them as cannon fodder for her own ends, and, at times intentionally, created more graves for them to mourn to achieve her goals.

 

These orphans were her legacy. She had created them through the decisions she had made. And in that moment, suddenly and inexplicably, she became angry and ashamed at that fact. Those emotions built when the realization came that her decisions had cost many of the Alliance's children their parents as well. It was something she had neither thought of nor cared about before. It had been the calculated cost and reality of the victory which she had sought for her people.

 

 _How large did Stormwind's orphanage have to become because of my orders?_ She asked herself honestly.

 

“Are you well, Warchief?” Saurfang asked her, some concern tinging his voice.

 

She continued to watch the children play at war, haunted and mesmerized by it at the same time as she answered, an anger entering her own words, “No, High Overlord, I am not well. I am not well at all.” Then, she addressed Lor'themar, never removing her eyes from the little troll girl as she swung her toy sword. “I will come to Silvermoon City, Lor'themar. We were all just given a second chance at having a future. I won't allow old conflicts to take it away from us again.”

 

After taking one last look at the children, she then turned to Saurfang and told him, “See that these children want for nothing, and Matron Battlewail has all the resources and people she needs to care for them; food, clothing, proper beds, books, teachers, whatever she needs.”

 

“They will make excellent new warriors for the Horde, Warchief.” Saurfang responded, his tone approving.

 

“I want their futures brighter than that, High Overlord. I owe them at least that much. We all do.” She replied.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

 

In Stormwind City...

 

The mood in the Alliance capital had steadily eroded since the memorial for the High Priestess. It was as if a shadow had descended on the metropolis and refused to lift. Fights regularly broke out in the taverns, more so than the usual good natured brawls between drunk friends. The Pig and Whistle in Old Town had seen more visits from Stormwind patrols breaking up fights in the last week than it had in the several months before. Tempers were short, and smiles were few. There were rumors that circulated among the people that King Anduin Wrynn was conspiring with the Horde, that he was under the Banshee Queen's spell, and that he was no longer fit to rule. It was a city which felt besieged, though by no forces visible to the eye.

 

More and more people flocked to the Cathedral of Light, the heart of the city both literally and metaphorically, for some comfort and encouragement from the unseen melancholy. Most just wanted to feel the Light's presence on them and know that things would work out somehow. But the Holy Light was harder and harder to come by even in its own temple. Those who came to be healed found themselves in confusion as they were restored by the use of supplications to the Void, once discouraged if not outright forbidden among Stormwind's priesthood. The regular services filled the sanctuary to its capacity as people sought stability and order as well as hope. Those who came to be encouraged found themselves treated to homilies about the evil sorcerer Jeshua, the illusions of healing which the Forsaken monsters attempted to force the world to accept, and the need to strike back at this darkness which had poisoned their entire world. The Church of Light in Stormwind had their eyes open to it all. Of course they would guide them in the true ways of the Light.

 

However, the Light which the Cathedral's clergy preached in those days felt cold, lifeless, and shadowy.

 

Anduin's decree had gone entirely unheeded after High Priestess Laurena's death. If anything, the preaching against Jeshua and the transformation he had wrought on Azeroth had only magnified as if whatever restraints there might have been on the clergy had been removed. What was more, it became increasingly difficult for him to walk freely in his own city, even in his own keep, without catching whispers from housekeepers, valets, even the royal guards who protected his person.

 

“No, it can't be true.” He had heard once at a distance from a conversation a housekeeper he had known since a small child was having with one of her younger peers. “That boy's as filled with the Light as one of the Naaru those goat people talk of.”

 

“But the Bishop said...” The younger one had begun to reply.

 

And then both had gone silent when they saw him pass by in the corridor of the Keep. It had not been the first time, nor the last he had overheard such muted conversations, but it had been the first time he had heard the good Bishop mentioned in connection. He had no need to question which one at this point. Bishop Marcus had been elevated by his brother clergy to High Priest of the Cathedral of Light, and it had been High Priest Marcus who had been preaching nearly every time the doors of the Cathedral were open for regular worship.

 

 _Exactly what has Bishop Marcus been saying about me?_ He questioned. _And more to the point, how do I respond?_

 

Anduin did not know the new High Priest well. Bishop Marcus had not been one of the members of the Priesthood with whom he had frequent contact, and his own training in the priestly disciplines had proceeded under the Prophet Velen's tutelage, and not Stormwind's own Church. His usual contact with the clergy since assuming the throne had been through Marcus' superior, Laurena. Anduin and she had been of nearly equal ability in their understanding and command of the Holy Light, regardless of his young age. In truth, had Anduin not been the crown prince, if fate had been different, he might have assumed the mantle of the High Priest upon Laurena's passing.

 

It did not take him long at all to discover what Marcus' opinion of him was. After making good use of SI:7 agents whose loyalty to House Wrynn was beyond reproach to gather information, it seemed all roads led back to the high cleric one way or the other. What was more startling was that the man had not appeared afraid to hide those opinions or to disseminate them among his inferiors who then preached them to the people. The mood in the city had palpably turned against the king within days of Anduin making his positions clear. The Cathedral was the beating heart of Stormwind, and that heart had turned against Stormwind's head.

 

Anduin didn't generally censure people for voicing their opinions of himself or his rule. Criticism could be constructive. He knew there were many in his kingdom that saw him as weak in comparison with his father.

 

It was true that he was _not_ Varian Wrynn on any level. His father had been a warrior king. He had been captured when Anduin was just a small boy, brainwashed to fight as a gladiator in a pit with the name of Lo'gosh, and only returned to his rightful throne after much hardship and sacrifice. His father had an unpredictable temper, but had been a good man and had only wanted what was best for Azeroth, his kingdom, and his son. He had proved that by setting aside old hatreds and marching to war against the Burning Legion alongside the Horde leadership, and had proved it again by making the ultimate sacrifice to save what was left of the Alliance forces as they retreated from the Broken Shore.

 

Anduin had never truly been a warrior, no matter how much his father had wanted him to be. He had never had the skill with a sword or the aggressive instinct that Varian tried at one time to instill in him. It was King Magni Bronzebeard of Ironforge, ironically the man to whom his father sent him to learn to be a fighter, who first recognized the young man's calling to the Priesthood instead. Anduin had always wanted to bring peace and healing to his people, the land, and especially his father. He had wanted to see diplomatic resolutions to the conflicts with the Horde, taking his cue from the unlikely friendship he had formed with Baine Bloodhoof, the High Chieftain of the Tauren, in Pandaria. Deep within himself he knew that the peoples of the Horde were no more monsters because of their race than the peoples of the Alliance were. He had seen and known true monsters that looked more like him than like High Overlord Saurfang or Baine.

 

It was also true that he had been angry, distraught, and unprepared after his father's death, and overwhelmed at the responsibility of having to step into his considerably large shoes to lead, not only Stormwind, but the entire Alliance as the other leaders of the Alliance looked to Stormwind for guidance on the path forward after the Legion war. He had been thankful when Velen, his old mentor in the Holy Light, and Genn Greymane had stepped in to provide that guidance and direction to him to bring his own responsibility to everyone who looked to him into focus.

 

But he also remembered that it hadn't been either the Alliance alone, or the Horde alone that had brought the Burning Legion to its knees. It had been both of them working together both on Azeroth and on Argus, even taking the fight through portals to distant Legion controlled worlds to destroy their bastions of power. It had been the combined might of “the children of Azeroth,” as he had heard Velen tell how the Titan described the united forces, that had crushed the demonic hordes. They had achieved victory together against a common enemy as they had before against the Burning Legion during the third war, the Lich King in Northrend, Garrosh Hellscream's madness, and his twisted vision realized, the Iron Horde.

 

Those lessons had not been lost on Anduin at any stage of his life. The children of Azeroth had always been stronger united than divided. _All_ of Azeroth's children. That was why he had accepted Sylvanas' invitation to talk. That was why he was willing to pursue peace with the Horde even when they had been on the brink of yet another “world war” between the two alliances.

 

He could see it so clearly. _Why can't anyone else?_ He had often wondered.

 

All of this was running through King Anduin Wrynn's mind as he stood in Cathedral Square looking up at the open church doors contemplating his next actions and their consequences. On his right stood Genn Greymane. They were both surrounded by a dozen armed Stormwind patrol guards wearing heavy plate armor in formation with arrest orders. Each of them had been hand picked by the king to carry out his orders.

 

Bystanders in Cathedral Square looked on the king and his guards warily. Some held expressions of resignation, others anger, and still others fear. It couldn't be helped. Anduin couldn't let the lies and misinformation spread about him or about Jeshua's Dawn Event tie his hands. He had to do something both for Stormwind, and for the Holy Light's own sacred truth. He felt his duty to both keenly.

 

The show of force, and his own royal presence might have been seen as egregious for the arrest of a cleric, but Anduin had sought to drive home his point. _He_ ruled Stormwind, not the High Priest or the church clergy. They answered to _him_ , not vice versa.

 

Even with the doors open, he could see that his notices regarding the teachings of Jeshua had been torn down. He had made his position clear, and so had Stormwind's clergy; in particular their new High Priest. They had the right to their opinions. If that was where it had stayed then he would not be standing there that afternoon having given signed arrest warrants to his police force.

 

They had the right to their opinions. They did not however have the right to challenge the King of Stormwind's decrees openly or accuse him of treason. That was treason itself.

 

“Anduin, I must once again advise against this course of action.” Greymane told him as they stood there. It was not the first time he had warned of taking direct action, especially so public of an action. “It will be seen as an attack upon the Church of Light itself. It may only confirm the worst in the minds of the people.”

 

“Then how would you have responded to such a challenge against your own sovereignty in Gilneas, Genn?” Anduin replied. “Can you honestly say you would have been more lenient?”

 

Genn made no response. They both knew what the answer was. Instead, Anduin could see the wheels of Genn Greymane's mind spin furiously behind his eyes as he looked from the young king to the church and back.

 

“You know I don't take any pleasure in this.” Anduin then continued. “But enough is enough. This nonsense must end. What has happened, has happened. Look around you.” Anduin gestured widely, taking in all of the Cathedral's district of the city. The gloomy and melancholic faces of its residents making the king's point for him. “This denial of the truth serves no good purpose and only brings our kingdom even further into the shadows. I won't allow Stormwind to fall into darkness, not when the Holy Light has so clearly revealed itself.”

 

Then, to the guards Anduin issued his instructions, “High Priest Marcus is to be apprehended peaceably and unharmed if possible. He is to be taken to Stormwind's Stockade and placed in confinement, given all the respect due his position. Am I understood?”

 

“Yes, your majesty.” The guards responded professionally, and in unison in their imposing, lion crested armor. One might have been forgiven thinking that they would be marching into battle instead of leading a cleric to the Stockade.

 

Next to him, Genn Greymane took a deep breath and let it out in a deep sigh.

 

Drawing his father's sword, Shalamayne, from it's scabbard Anduin gave the order to his soldiers, “Let's go.”

 

Anduin began marching up the stairs ahead of his troops, Genn Greymane following right behind him.

 

* * *

 

Inside Stormwind's Cathedral...

 

Greymane's mind continued to race to find some way of talking Anduin out of his uncharacteristically militant course of action even as they passed through the doors and into the unusually dark interior of the sanctuary. But there had been no way of persuading him. And Genn had been reminded by Anduin himself, he would have tolerated far less dissent than Anduin had no matter from which quarter it came from, though what Anduin failed to grasp was that the King of Gilneas would not have been so overt about it. A few rumors here, a false witness there. He would have swayed public opinion against the cleric first, and then quietly arrested him in the middle of the night with few people the wiser. In all likelihood, he could have hung the High Priest in Gilneas City's prison and no one would have batted an eye by the time he was done.

 

But tactical deception and subtlety was not Anduin's forte any more than it had been his father's.

 

In truth, he had only agreed to come with Anduin to first try and work something out that would resolve this peaceably. Marcus had shown little but deference to Greymane's judgment, and that was usable to him on many levels. If he should see that Greymane would no longer be his patron in the matter, then in all likelihood, the cleric would back off, and then Greymane could work behind the scenes to remove the man quietly and permanently. If that failed however, he knew what powers priests of any denomination could call upon, and though Anduin was a formidable opponent where his command of the Holy Light was concerned, he would not allow the boy to stand alone if it came to that, his patrol guards notwithstanding.

 

Even though he maintained his human facade, Greymane's Worgen senses remained on alert and heightened as they came into what appeared at first to be an empty sanctuary. The scents of the vaulted chamber made no sense to him though. The carried an unusual pungent aroma mixed with the scent of decay and rot. The unnatural silence which greeted his heightened hearing only served to alarm him even more, the only sounds reaching his ears were their own footfalls, and even these were muted.

 

 _Something is very wrong._ He couldn't shake the thought, his animal instincts yelling from within.

 

“Anduin, something's not right.” He told the younger man upon entering the Cathedral's sanctuary. “We need to retreat.”

 

“Not yet.” Anduin replied, though Greymane could hear the wariness in the king's own words.

 

In front of the arrest party the sunlight which normally shone through the Cathedral windows felt muted and shaded as though it couldn't somehow compete. The candelabras within the sanctuary also appeared to barely be glowing as their own light struggled against the shadows which had enveloped the Light's own temple.

 

 _BANG!_ The loud crash of the front Cathedral doors slamming shut in the foyer behind them echoed off the sanctuary's walls.

 

The guards all drew their swords as one, forming an outward facing ring of sword blades and lion crested golden shields around the two monarchs. “Protect the king!” The commanding officer, a Lieutenant Anderson, shouted to his men.

 

 _What has that old fool gone and done?!_ Greymane's own mind demanded. _What kind of faustian bargain has he made?_ And then the thought crept into his mind yet again since Anduin's conversation with him in SI:7's headquarters, _What kind of danger have I put Varian's son into?_

 

And then the laughing started.

 

It began quietly, a maniacal cackling which rose in volume repeating the Lieutenant's words over and over again, “Protect the king!” Those words and laughter also echoed, bouncing across the Cathedral's walls and growing in volume though no one could see from where the source was coming from.

 

 _Damn! Enough of this facade!_ Greymane's own form shifted, growing larger and more powerful as he sprouted white gray fur across his entire body his shirt and coat tearing and ripping apart under the strain of the sudden change, his hands and fingers becoming wickedly sharp claws meant for hunting and tearing apart prey, his mouth and cheeks elongating into a fanged snout, and his ears becoming distinctly lupine as a Worgen's threatening howl joined the cacophony of mad laughter.

 

“Ah! The monster finally reveals his true form!” The laughing voice shouted into the empty cathedral. “How delightful!”

 

Greymane couldn't locate the source of the sound regardless of his Worgen's enhanced, lupine hearing. The echo chamber that the sanctuary created, wonderful for singing hymns, forbade him from getting a direction for the voice's owner.

 

“Who are you?! Show yourself!” Anduin ordered into the shadowed, sacred hall, a certain steel edging his words.

 

“Show yourself!” The maddening voice mocked over and over again, sounding as though it were coming from every possible direction.

 

Then one of the guards turned from his formation shouting, “I HAVE NO CONTROL!!!”

The patrolman began swinging his blade wildly towards Anduin and was blocked by his companions' shields. He swung again and again until one of his fellow guards got behind him and clubbed in the back of his head hard with the butt of his sword, knocking him unconscious to the floor.

 

“Mind control!” Anduin shouted to his guards. “Shadow Priest! Guard your minds!”

 

But even as he said it, Genn knew that the patrol guards would have little chance. Only the most disciplined of intellects could resist the mind control of a practiced Shadow Priest for any length of time.

 

“Anduin, we have to get you out of here!” Genn yelled at his friend's son.

 

But as he turned to face him, Anduin's hands were lit up with light, and his eyes, reminding the Worgen lord so much of Anduin's father's when he charged into battle, blazed with a pure white radiance Genn Greymane had rarely if ever seen from any cleric. The radiance spread across Stormwind's king like a protective sleeve. The look of grim determination which had come over the young man as he gripped Shalamayne in both light filled hands was all Varian Wrynn.

 

 _Retreat_ was nowhere to be found in the young man's expression or body language. Instead, a righteous anger had taken possession of him.

 

 _Your majesty,_ was Greymane's one thought at the sight, nodding his Worgen head at the King of Stormwind then turning once more to try and peer into the darkness. There had been a time when even he had questioned whether or not Anduin would or could be man enough to lead the Alliance into battle as Varian had. Looking at him now, however, he found that he could fight side by side with this man that now stood next to him.

 

“This Cathedral is sacred to the Holy Light! You will not defile this place!” Anduin shouted defiantly into the darkness of the sanctuary even as the shadowy gloom began to retreat from his increasingly light filled presence.

 

The laughing grew more maniacal even as it changed, and a tinge of fear and sobriety entered it.

 

“So, the boy king follows Jeshua!” The voice echoed malevolently around the sanctuary. “I had wondered.” It continued to taunt. “No matter. It changes nothing.”

 

 _He knows._ Genn thought. _He's come to the same conclusion I have about the priesthood's loss of the Light._

 

Without warning, jets of living darkness sprang out from the shadowed alcoves of the sanctuary and struck several of Anduin's guards around him, freezing them and beginning to shrivel and age the loyal guards who had sought to protect him.

 

“No!” Anduin replied, and the light around him intensified as he directed the holy radiance towards his men, banishing and purging the fel magics from them, though still not able to see from where the attacks were coming from.

 

But Greymane, with his keener black and white Worgen's vision, saw through the shadows and didn't like what he saw. Lined up behind the columns and against the walls of the Cathedral on both sides were several humans and... High Elves? Several of them wore the dark clothes which the Warlocks of the city preferred. The elves appeared to be wrapped in dark, shadowy energies.

 

 _Not High Elves, but Void Elves_. Genn corrected himself. They were of the same faction of Quel'dorei that Anduin had given leave to join the Alliance forces through Alleria Windrunner precisely because they were a powerful if dangerous group of Void magic users. Anduin had been dubious about it to begin with, but at the time had chosen to give them the benefit of the doubt. After all, the Demon Hunters had proven their own power of will in controlling the evil forces which gave them their strength, and Illidan himself had ultimately proven his own loyalty to Azeroth when the time came. He could not very well turn the Void practitioners away because of philosophical differences.

 

 _And here they show their true allegiance, as do Stormwind's Warlocks._ Genn cursed himself for encouraging the agreement as he took a mental count of their adversaries.

 

They were outnumbered by practitioners of the dark forces. They had to have been stationed in the Cathedral before Anduin and he had arrived. That led to only one conclusion.

 

 _They were waiting for us?_ Genn realized far, far too late. _I have been betrayed by my own agents._

 

“Anduin, there's too many!” Genn shouted.

 

And then those soldiers who had not been targeted by the darkness lifted their own weapons and struck at their king. Their sudden strikes were deflected only by Anduin's use of Shalamayne and the shield of Light which had formed around him, but they had broken his concentration, and their companions began to wither faster as the fel magic consumed the life force within them.

 

“My lords! Run! I can't...” One of the attacking guards tried to warn the two monarchs.

 

The soldiers moved like puppets on marionette strings as they slashed at Anduin, keeping him from concentrating on healing their comrades, and forcing him to protect himself as he threw up another shield barrier while trying desperately to heal his men.

 

“My lord, slay us!” another guard shouted as he slashed at Greymane. “It's the only way!”

 

A bitter taste filled Greymane's mouth as he dodged the man's strike, catching his sword arm and twisting it until he heard a sickening “snap”. He tried to shove the man with the broken arm to the side, but the guard came back, his sword arm dangling, and attempted to use his shield to bash the Gilnean lord's head in.

 

Around him, the other soldiers still mobile had converged on Anduin who was holding them off with both sword and Light filled prayers. But how long could the young man keep this up? Anduin's skill with a blade was nowhere near his father's. He was a healer, not a fighter, and his first instincts were to bring life, not death.

 

 _He's right. There's no choice if Anduin is going to survive this._ The realization came to him grimly.

 

“I'm sorry.” Greymane growled as he caught the man's shield with his own superior strength and forced the rim of it back into the man's neck hard, crushing his windpipe and snapping the man's neck in the process.

 

The soldier slid to the ground dead before he hit it, a strange look of peace on his corpse's face.

 

Anduin's shield of Light had blazed as he fought to disarm his own men without trying to harm them. Around him, those men he had fought to save from the Warlocks' fel magics shriveled up like old men and wasted away before him.

 

“You monsters!” Anduin raged into the shadows and the Light blazed around him even more intently until Anduin was almost painful to look at with Genn's lupine eyes in the shadowy sanctuary.

 

Another stream of darkness shot out from the side of the Cathedral. This one had been aimed at Anduin, but had faltered and died under the Holy energies which were protecting him. Another tried as well, but could not seem to pass the barrier of Holy Light that surrounded him.

 

The laughter continued echoing through the church halls as Genn whirled around on the soldiers who continued to attack Stormwind's king. There was no emotion in the old Worgen's eyes as he struck them from behind even as they focused their attacks on Varian's son. He knew where the chinks in their armor were, and he exploited them with his claws, snapping necks and tearing open the jugular veins of men who had literally begged to die instead of being forced to attack their king.

 

“Genn, no! These are our people!” Anduin shouted at the older man, but the Worgen couldn't stop his assault. He wouldn't allow Anduin to come to harm. He had sworn it to Varian's ghost... and Liam's.

 

The Light around Anduin intensified and the darkness around them fled as the king called on the Holy Light even more to return those soldiers to life even as Genn felled them. A radiant blaze of Holy Fire began to swirl around the king, and a dome of Light formed around them and began to radiate outwards to resurrect those who had just died.

 

Stormwind's king would not give up on them even as they were being used as weapons against him.

 

 _Anduin, no! You blessed, Light filled fool!_ Genn raged silently at the man. _There are too many of them. We can't win this one!_

 

And then Genn himself was struck by a Warlock's fel magics, and he felt his own life force begin to slip away until Anduin's dome of Light cut it off as it came between Greymane and his attacker.

 

“Anduin you have to go! Now!” Genn yelled in his gravelly Worgen's voice at the king. “I'm not going to watch you die too, dammit!”

 

The laughter echoing throughout the chamber intensified as Genn's choices evaporated. In the pocket of his ripped trousers, he managed to dig out a white stone emblazoned with a sapphire swirl. With what remaining strength he had under the life sapping force he turned to Anduin and shouted, “For the Alliance!”

 

“Genn, what are you...?” Anduin demanded as the silver gray Worgen turned on him.

 

Confusion tore across the king's face, breaking his concentration as Genn then, carefully controlling his strength, attacked Stormwind's king, striking him hard across the back of his head and knocking him unconscious, his right hand still gripping Shalamayne as he fell. Greymane then pressed the white stone into the unconscious man's left hand, closing Anduin's fingers around it.

 

He had never tried activating a Hearthstone for someone else to be teleported before. In one of the few times of his life, he silently prayed to the Light that this would work.

 

Focusing hard, his own Worgen's hand around Anduin's closed glove, Genn said into the darkness, “Gilneas City.”

 

He then let go of Anduin's hand and backed away as the Hearthstone, his personal link to his homeland, activated and within seconds, a blue flash lit up the shadows and the King of Stormwind was nowhere to be found.

 

With Anduin gone, Genn then let his animal, Worgen's rage take over, consuming him as the blood pumped hard, coursing through his veins. Someone had dared to try and harm Anduin, a boy who was like Genn's own son.

 

 _Never again._ Genn swore silently.

 

Genn then turned his enraged attention to the Warlocks and Void practitioners intent on his destruction, the blood pounding in his ears. He zeroed in on one in particular in a fraction of a second, his lupine nose guiding him towards his prey.

 

“FOR THE ALLIANCE!!!” He shouted into the darkness and then leapt, closing the distance between them in seconds, landing with claws tearing and fangs ripping into the unprepared, cloth robed man. Blood filled the Worgen's mouth and nostrils as he then attacked the next fel practioner along the wall.

 

“PUT THE OLD DOG DOWN!!!” The maniacal voice cackled as Genn Greymane raged across the sacred space, human and elven blood spilling wherever he landed.

 

Two more streams of fel energy shot towards Greymane from opposite directions and struck him hard, sapping the life out of him. A third stream of pure void energy struck him from still a third direction, and his mind exploded into madness as he sought for another life to end in retribution for the attack on Varian's son.

 

His mind clouded over, and his sense of direction went hazy as he sought his next victim.

 

He leapt once more towards what he thought was the source of one of the magic streams, but hit the side of one of the Cathedral's walls hard with a sickening crunch. Even still, he sought to get up and resume his blood frenzy.

 

The next thing he knew was the pain of a knife's blade in his back, and all he heard was the cackling laughter of the madman as the life drained from him completely. In his last moments, Genn Greymane saw his son Liam's face surrounded by Light. His son's face was saddened, as though there was nothing he could do. But Genn Greymane became strangely content at the vision, and a peace overtook him.

 

The Light would not be the old Worgen's final fate, he knew. There was too much blood, some of it innocent, on his hands for that. He would not repent of any of it. What he did, he did for his family and for Gilneas. But the king of Gilneas would at least go to his afterlife knowing where his son had gone. That was all he could reasonably ask.

 

The last word on the aged Worgen's lips was, “Liam...”

 

And then the darkness took him completely.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

 

In the City of Lordaeron...

 

The sun had crested over the eastern mountains, and the sky was aflame with red, orange, and gold when the riding bat had made its final approach alone into the newly repaired walls of the ancient city. Its rider could not fail to notice the changed flags and sigils, or their similarity to those of the Argent Crusade but with a decidedly “Jeshua Follower” twist. He had seen the city before the Scourge in all of its glory as the first home and capital of the Alliance of Lordaeron, and like with many others had deeply mourned its loss to the undead and to the Horde. For decades he had considered it almost a personal insult that the Forsaken should fly their flags from its battlements.

 

Looking upon it now in the light of the rising sun, he felt it never looked more beautiful than it did with its new standards.

 

On his person, Grayson Shadowbreaker carried letters of introduction written and signed in an unpracticed but legible hand by the emissary who had come to restore his sight to him. Andrew Haleis had kindly provided them for him to meet with the other leaders of Jeshua's movement, and more importantly, for him to enter Lordaeron without imprisonment by its queen should she learn of his presence there. The emissary had not minced words on Sylvanas' opinion of the man.

 

Andrew had kindly provided him with those documents and so much more. After restoring the man's sight, the emissary had spent the last week in Tarren Mill teaching him everything Jeshua had taught he and his comrades, and sharing with him all of his experiences. There had been no lie, no deception in the man's voice. Truth was, after coming to know the simple, plain spoken man, Grayson didn't believe the man knew how to lie and was certainly unable to come up with any story so fanciful as the truth he laid bare for the two knights that had come to be his students where the message of Jeshua was concerned.

 

The morning after he restored Grayson's sight, Andrew had taken them both to the exact spot in Tarren Mill where Jeshua had called upon the Holy Light to transform the entire town and a squad of Demon Hunters all at once. The words which he remembered Jeshua crying out to the people still rang in Grayson's ears and had tunneled their way into his heart where he held them fast.

 

 _The Light has sent you a message!_ Jeshua had pronounced to the people there.

 

 _And what is that message, vagabond?_ Had been the mocking response.

 

 _Me._ Jeshua had responded.

 

And then Tarren Mill's whole world had changed in an instant as Jeshua delivered the message the Primal Force he called his “sire” had sent them. Andrew's story kept being reinforced the day he told it by random townspeople, and even the Orc soldiers who had been stationed there. They had all seen it, and each had been transformed by Jeshua's message in some way to where even the man who had mocked him now numbered among his emissaries.

 

 _What is the Light's message to Azeroth?_ _To the Horde? To the Alliance? To Lordaeron? To Stormwind?_ The question wouldn't leave Grayson alone as the answer kept repeating itself. _Jeshua._ _Jeshua is the Message and the Messenger._

 

The day after, Katharine had to report back to the others to assure them they weren't dead, but Grayson had stayed behind. Before she left on a bat to carry her as far as the Horde research outpost in the Hinterlands, he gave her a message to give to his brother in arms, Durothian Rall, “I was blind, but now I can see. I won't be blinded to the Light again, not by anyone.” Katharine could fill them in on the rest of what Andrew told them, and let them make their own choices.

 

His whole world had twisted inside out, but he felt that more than anything he had to stay and learn more, and as he did he felt his old life slipping away little by little as Andrew spoke to him of the simple, homeless teacher who had done nothing but teach compassion, heal, and give people back their lives. His title, his lands, his position as a teacher and trainer of future Paladins all seemed so small and worthless in comparison to the quiet, warm, gentle power which radiated through the humble fisherman. Power which Grayson knew belonged to Jeshua.

 

At first a small part of him had wanted to say, “Yeah, but...” when Andrew would speak about loving one's enemies, and forgiving them. He had spent the better part of his life bringing his enemies to justice and fighting against them, especially the Horde. But then he felt the Light itself rising within him, countering his arguments as if to say, _No, you need to understand this! Pay attention, Grayson!_

 

And he did.

 

After feeling the Light so distant from him for so long, it had been like the return of a familiar friend, a drink of cool refreshing water to a parched man, and a feast to a man dying of starvation. He refused to do anything which would place a barrier between himself and the Holy Light again. He knew he couldn't go through that again. If Jeshua truly was the Holy Light somehow incarnate as a human, then so be it. He would follow where Jeshua led him, and everything else be damned. His first love and commitment had been and would continue to be the Holy Light.

 

And Jeshua was the Holy Light made manifest for all of Azeroth to see.

 

The riding bat landed on the outer ring of the city, and Grayson Shadowbreaker put his bare feet on the newly paved cobblestones of the bat handler's alcove. Before leaving Tarren Mill, he had made the choice to leave his armor clothes behind, and now wore only the sweat stained trousers, belt, and shirt which had been underneath them. Seeing Andrew's habit, and hearing of Jeshua's, he also left his leather underboots behind as well. If he was to follow Jeshua, then he was determined to _follow Jeshua_ in every way. Bringing his hand up to his chin and cheeks, a week's worth of beard growth had overtaken his normally carefully cut goatee.

 

Rather than handing the reins of the animal over to the bat handler, a muscular man wearing purple lensed flight goggles Andrew had called “Michael Garrett”, as he might have with a gryphon in Stormwind's aerie, after having slid off the animal with a serviceable canvas backpack, the bat immediately flew to a metal ring hanging from a pole nearby and hooked its feet around it.

 

Andrew had not come with him. “I don't think I'm supposed to go back with you, Grayson.” The fisherman had told the Paladin as they parted ways in Tarren Mill. “Jeshua told us we were to take his message to the ends of Azeroth, and I for one have stayed put in Lordaeron long enough.”

 

“What about your things in Lordaeron?” Grayson had asked him, confused about the man's personal effects. Wouldn't he want to return to retrieve them?

 

“Don't have anything else.” Aqndrew had replied. “What you see is all I own in the world, my friend. If it was good enough for the teacher, than it is good enough for me.”

 

Grayson slung the pack over his shoulder and looked over his surroundings. It had been over thirty years since he had seen the inside of the walls of this city, and though he had been born and raised in Elwynn Forest, he felt a kind of homecoming as he surveyed it.

 

The paving underneath his feet was fresh, and as he looked out he could see and smell the signs of new renovations all over the city still ongoing. At one time, Lordaeron had been a queen among the cities of the Eastern Kingdoms, and it appeared that its residents were intent on restoring it to its former glory. He stepped out of the alcove, pack slung over his shoulder and started for the center of the city, where he remembered the Cathedral had been built, adjacent to Lordaeron's own Keep. Andrew had told him, the other emissaries resided in the Cathedral's old cloister apartments for the moment, and he had been directed to find them and explain to them what had occurred.

 

According to the fisherman, those instructions had come from Jeshua himself.

 

Grayson set off through the streets observing the new construction alongside the parts of the city which had yet to be renovated. Everyone seemed busy and on their way to somewhere. There was a good, positive energy that felt infectious as he passed people by; humans, Orcs, _Sindorei_ elves, and the occasional Goblin tinkering with some kind of machine or other. All of these people had been his enemies once upon a time because they had been enemies of Stormwind and the Alliance, even the humans who had not long ago been undead.

 

He stopped and caught himself staring at a Goblin in a purple silk business suit near another market alcove working on a metal and wood boxlike machine for some human tradesmen. The Goblin used his tools turning, pushing, and pulling on parts of the machine that Grayson wouldn't have been able to identify for the life of him. The device whirled to life doing... something as cogs and gears began to spin and lights began to flash on it. And then white smoke began to stream from the side of it and it caught fire. The human tradesmen, arms crossed over their chests, looked entirely unimpressed as the diminutive green creature fought furiously to shut it down. Then, seeing Grayson's attention, the Goblin flashed a yellow toothy smile and gave him a thumbs up sign shouting, “Food Processor! Works like a charm, and only nineteen-ninety-five!”

 

Giving an awkward forced smile back, Grayson moved on quickly.

 

He wound his way through Lordaeron's ongoing construction into its central heart and by the time the sun had risen clearly into the sky, and the golden colors of dawn had faded he found himself staring up a set of stone steps at the wide open doors of the city's domed Cathedral. Even in the morning daylight, he could tell there was a radiant light emanating welcomingly from inside the structure.

 

Pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts, he then started up the steps and crossed the threshold into the Cathedral.

 

Inside, past the foyer, the sanctuary itself was filled with people as an older, simply dressed man in a brown linen robe led a service in devotion to the Holy Light. Every seat in every pew was taken, and there were other people lining the walls. Almost everyone in the Cathedral was human, but here and there, Grayson noted the long tapered peach colored ears and more refined features which marked the elven races, and thought he spied some azure and lavender colored ones as well towards the altar. In seeing the elves present there the memory forced its way into his mind of the red headed Blood Knight Matriarch, Lady Liadrin, and the look of contempt and disgust she had given him not so long ago at his request to the Order of the Silver Hand.

 

He physically shuddered at what became a painful and awkward memory. She had every right to hold him in contempt for what he had tried to do. He had done it in ignorance, but that made no difference.

 

 _I should have known better._ He told himself. _They were right, and I would have had them slaughter innocent men, women,... and children._

 

A tear formed in his eye at this last thought.

 

The regular liturgy to the Holy Light was said, and Grayson joined in the familiar communal worship with the others as he stood in the back giving thanks and praise to the Primal Force of all creation, making note where the liturgy had been only slightly changed to include Jeshua's name in certain places. The sanctuary pulsed with the Holy Light, and he thought his eyes must have been playing tricks on him as he could not make out any discernible shadows anywhere. The Light was palpable and almost tangible around him as the people continued their devotions.

 

 _And I believed these people to be unholy monsters._ The sense of shame which began with the memory of Liadrin built within him as the service progressed. And then he asked himself silently, _How could Bishop Marcus have_ not _sensed the Light's presence with Jeshua when it is so obvious with those who follow him?_

 

And then the liturgy died down, and the man in plain linen robes began to speak of Jeshua, and his time with him. It was only then that Grayson realized that the man who was leading the service was another one of Jeshua's emissaries who kept calling himself “old Jim”. He kept referring to Jeshua as “the Captain” as he spoke reverently and affectionately of him. The Paladin listened intently, recognizing some things from what Andrew had taught him, and hearing new, almost unbelievable ones as well.

 

And then the man began to speak of Darrowshire, and the little girl Pamela he had met there who had been dead for thirty years. He spoke of how the little girl's story had broken his heart, and how he had gone to Jeshua to see if there was really anything he could do for her and for her town.

 

Grayson listened even more intently. He had heard Marcus tell the story too, but upon listening to Jim relating what had happened, he wondered if Marcus had really even been there at all, or had only seen what he wanted to see.

 

“'...these people have been dead and scattered all over the ground for decades.' I told the Captain.” Jim told those listening. “'Maybe if you had gotten to them thirty years ago after it happened...' And do you know what his response to me was? He said, 'I _am_ resurrection, Jim, and I _am_ life itself. The one who allows me to shine within him is alive even if his body dies. And death has no power over the living man in whom I shine.' And then he asked me, 'Do you trust me in this?' Now, I had seen the Captain do some pretty amazing things, but the kind o'...” He paused for a minute, emotion plainly on his face. “The kind o' healing we was talkin' about went beyond anything I had ever heard of or seen. But when I looked at the Captain's face, I saw it. For the first time, I saw who and what Jeshua really was and what he wanted to do, and I told him, 'Yeah, Captain, I do.' Because it was then I knew that he was much more than just a man who could use the Holy Light like any Priest or Paladin worth their salt. I knew that Jeshua somehow was and is the Holy Light wearing the same skin you 'n I do. He was the message the Light sent to us to tell us what it's really like and what it really wants from us. I went with the Captain back to Darrowshire, and I'm glad I did because I saw the Light show us all what it wanted to do for all of us. I got to see that little girl hug her daddy with living arms for the first time in thirty years all because of Jeshua.”

 

The tears that had formed in Grayson's eyes continued to flow as old Jim talked about his teacher honestly and with heartfelt emotion. Had it been up to the Paladin not long ago, that little girl who had been given back her life would have been dead on the ground once more next to her father, murdered in the Light's name.

 

 _What kind of a monster would I have become if Jeshua hadn't knocked me off of my Gryphon?_ Grayson asked himself. He didn't like the answer, especially because he knew he would have been capable of it, misguided though he might have been. He had killed in the Light's name many, many times wielding the sacred to devastating effect. The very existence of the undead had been an affront to the Light, regardless of who it was.

 

And then Jim moved to reveal a silver chalice which had been placed on the altar. He picked it up reverently with both hands and showed it to those present saying, “Jeshua said this was his blood of the new pact he was making with all of us.”

 

The cup. Andrew had told him about it and the evening meal before Jeshua had been murdered. He told him how Jeshua had likened it to the dark pact made by the Gilneans and refugees from Hillsbrad as they drank the Worgen's blood to protect themselves from becoming undead.

 

Jim prayed over it, a brief flash of golden light passing between the older man's hand and the cup, and then sipped from it. From there, others up towards the altar also sipped from it, and then those from the congregation all stood up and queued to take.

 

 _I will follow you, Jeshua. I will make that pact with you too._ Grayson prayed silently and then joined the line of those waiting to receive it. In some ways, it startled him how he did it with so little hesitation. But he knew the Light's presence, and he could feel it all around him, and he knew that this was the will of the Holy Light for himself.

 

The line moved quickly and orderly and Grayson came to stand in front of old Jim. The man's weathered, wrinkling features which spoke of a hard life spent out in the elements smiled at him with his whole body and face as he offered him the cup saying, “This is Jeshua's pact.” It wasn't one of those fake smiles he had seen on the faces of the nobility and not a few of the clergy that he had known. It was as genuine as the tracks left by tears the Paladin saw when he stood face to face with him that he couldn't see from the back of the sanctuary.

 

The Paladin took the chalice in his own hands, the seriousness of what he was doing coming fully to his mind. In a flash his whole life rushed before his mind, everything he had done before this moment. He thought of the noble family name he had left behind to embrace his calling as a Paladin, he thought of the wars he had fought in, the enemies he had fought against, the people he healed as well as those he had destroyed in the Light's name. He thought of the barrier which had arisen between himself and the Light at Light's Hope chapel, and the many ways the Light had tried to get his attention. And Bishop Marcus's face rose in his mind's eye as well, questioning his loyalties and decisions. The word _traitor_ was tossed at him by that mental image.

 _You throw your lot in with monsters and the Alliance's enemies. You aren't worthy of being a Paladin of Stormwind._ The cleric's voice rang accusingly within Grayson's mind.

 

And he was once more reminded of the possible costs to himself, his position, his title, his lands, all of it if he in all sincerity accepted this cup and drank from it. Everything he had worked for and been could be gone. It had been a choice he had been prepared to make and thought he had before he ever walked into the church, but there was a voice within him that insisted he face it.

 

 _Is it worth it?_ The voice within him asked. _Do I risk losing everything to follow where Jeshua leads? Do I treat everything else as trash in order to obtain the Holy Light?_

 

“So be it. I will follow where the Light leads me. I will follow Jeshua.” Grayson responded quietly, a sober expression on his face, and he sipped from the chalice, handing it back to a nodding emissary before moving on allowing the next person behind him to partake.

 

Moving to the side, and out of the way of the others, he then faced the altar and stood looking at it for some time. Those other people around him appeared to melt away as he became transfixed by what he saw.

 

On the marble and stone surface danced a golden and silver series of radiant lights which grew and coalesced into the solid, humanoid form of a man with a beard, shining brighter than Azeroth's sun. The man radiated power and authority like nothing Grayson had ever felt before, and a warmth and joy that filled his heart to bursting.

 

“Kneel before me, Grayson Shadowbreaker.” The man instructed. “For I am the Holy Light.”

 

With fear and awe, Grayson obeyed, dropping to one knee, placing his hands on the other, and bowing his head in submission as though to his sovereign king, “Yes, my lord.”

 

The Paladin felt a hand placed gently on his head, followed by the weight of a second hand on top of it.

 

“Do you so swear to do righteousness at all times, defend the innocent, bring justice, heal the sick, and bring my Light into the darkness?” The Holy Light questioned him.

 

 _My vows!_ Grayson recognized the words from his first consecration as a Paladin.

 

“I so swear, my lord.” He responded.

 

“Do you so swear to show compassion and mercy, to walk humbly within me, and forsake all others in devotion to me?” He was asked.

 

“I so swear, my lord.” He responded once more.

 

“Do you so swear to obey my will in all things, even if it should mean your own death?” The Light continued.

 

“I so swear, my lord.” Grayson told him, his voice cracking with emotion.

 

“Do you swear to bring my message to this world, no matter where I might send you?” He was asked.

 

This question had not been one of his original vows when he had been consecrated in Stormwind's Cathedral decades before. At first confused, Grayson didn't know how to respond, until he realized who it was who was asking him.

 

“I so swear, my lord.” He finally answered, wondering what it meant as he did.

 

“Then be filled with my Light, and serve me as I choose.” The sacred presence responded.

 

And then it felt as though the man stepped _into_ Grayson, uniting himself with Grayson's own soul and spirit and Grayson's mind and heart exploded with rapture as the Light seized him and enlivened him in a way that he had never felt before. A righteous, holy power flowed through him that was both familiar and comforting, and more powerful than he had ever known. It overwhelmed him like a blazing, unstoppable wave of life, joy, and compassion without equal.

 

 _Now we are one, my champion._ He heard the Light speak within himself. _Rise, Paladin of the Holy Light._

 

* * *

 

In Lordaeron's Cathedral...

 

Sylvanas' attention had been drawn as the strange poor looking human stranger knelt in front of the altar for some time, mumbling something to someone that only he apparently could see. She did not recognize him, but her own experience and hunter's eye told her that the man's powerful, muscular build and scars could only belong to one acquainted with war and not some mere farm laborer.

 

She had come home after spending the last week in Orgrimmar attending to her responsibility as Warchief of the entire Horde, and not just queen of a nation going through the throes and pains of its own rebirth. There was much on her mind, and after much careful calculation on her part, she had come to the morning service in the Cathedral, herself looking for guidance from the power that had delivered them all.

 

She couldn't explain the urge to do so herself. But ever since Jeshua's resurrection, and later accepting the cup of his pact, she felt a connection to him and to the Light stronger than she had ever felt anything. She felt the desire to do the right thing, not only for herself and for her people, but for everyone, but she didn't always know what that right thing was. She only knew that she had hundreds of thousands of people across the Horde territories, and now also possibly the Quel'dorei looking to her to lead them and reassure them that their lives would be better and have meaning. That their sacrifices would not have been given in vain. That there was in fact light at the end of the dark tunnel they had all come through.

 

She felt all eyes now on her as she weighed what decisions to make.

 

Lor'themar had accepted her word that once she had finished with the Horde's business in Orgrimmar, she would come to Silvermoon and speak with the Quel'dorei. That business had, mercifully, given her time to consider and calculate how she would speak with them, and what she would say.

 

She had promised the regent lord of Silvermoon that she would come to that ancient home of hers to try and speak with the newly resurrected High Elves as both one of the “heroes” they remembered, and also as Warchief of the Horde. In so doing, she would have sit across the table, both literally and metaphorically, from her sisters, Vereesa and Alleria, both militant supporters of the Alliance. She would have to convince those at the table that Quel'Thalas's best interests and future lay in the hands of the alliance they only knew as monsters that tried to destroy both human and elven kingdoms, while at the same time affirming her commitment to the peace with the Alliance that she had agreed upon with Anduin and begun to implement among her own forces.

 

In other words, she would have to be walking a kind of diplomatic tightrope, and she was, admittedly, never much of a diplomat to begin with. She had, for most of her life and previous undeath, felt most at home with her bow in her hand, an arrow nocked and ready waiting for the time to strike. She had been the Ranger-General of Silvermoon, a soldier and a tactician, and she had been the Forsaken's warrior queen and savior from the Scourge leading her troops from the front into combat, but she was never a diplomat, nor had she ever wanted to be. She knew had to use and apply force to accomplish her goals, but the use of silver tongued words was not her strength.

 

She had been forced to be strong for decades. She had been forced, she felt, to trust only herself and Nathanos to accomplish what needed to be done, always aware of the possibility of betrayal by even her professed allies and subordinates. The incident at the Wrathgate in Northrend had only reinforced that for her. It had not been her idea to turn the plague canisters on their own living Horde forces as well as the Lich King's, though at the time she could have cared less about the Alliance troops. But that suspicion had hung over her head and she could do nothing about it. No one would truly believe her after it, and to be fair, she wouldn't have either.

 

And then she met Jeshua who wanted nothing more from her than to right the wrongs which had been forced on her. How many times had she nearly ended his life herself because she didn't trust him or his motives? How many times had she wanted to? He had to have known, but instead of protecting himself or using his immense power to end her as another might have done, he kept reaching out his hand to her offering her what she had truly wanted for years and more if only she would trust him enough to accept it.

 

He even had his own claim to the throne of Lordaeron, and could have taken it from her easily. Instead, he gave it back to her, and in that moment of clarity she realized there was one other person that she could trust with herself beyond just herself and Nathanos.

 

This was the reason why she kept coming back to the Cathedral and to Jeshua's emissaries. Jeshua was the only one she felt she could truly look to beyond herself for guidance, and he was somehow present in this place and in those who followed him.

 

“If you're listening, Jeshua, I don't ask for this often, but I'm no diplomat. I will need help to talk to my own people, to talk to my sisters, and get them to listen. I don't know what to say to any of them which would result in the peace I know you would want from this. I know how to fight a war. I know little of fighting a peace.” She had prayed, mouthing the words without sound after being one of the first to receive the cup once more.

 

She had thought first of bringing Nathanos with her, the only human ever to ascend to the rank of Ranger-Lord of Quel-Thalas. He was certainly a hero of her people, regardless of his race, but then she remembered how her people had viewed not only him, but any hint of the relationship which she had with him. It had been Nathanos himself who had discouraged the idea. He felt his presence might distract from what she hoped to accomplish, and she knew he was right.

 

She had closed her eyes to pray after moving to sit down again in the wooden, upholstered pew, and when she had opened them her attention was caught by the strange man who knelt with his back to her. She was certain that he had not been there before, and she did not recognize him as one of the people she might have seen elsewhere in the city.

 

He knelt, mumbling something she couldn't hear for some time, even after the service had ended and the sanctuary emptied. Jim, his fellow emissaries, and Bishop Faol who had come to join them regularly and had taken up residence in the Cathedral once more did not disturb the man, but moved around him respecting the stranger's obviously deep and heartfelt moment before the altar of the Light.

 

Not far from her, the Blood Knight Matriarch, Lady Liadrin stood at a respectful distance from her Warchief, also watching the man, a hint of confused recognition in her eyes. She had arrived by way of the translocation device much earlier in the morning, and had chosen to join the queen in the Cathedral's service to the Light. She had heard much about the preacher Jeshua and his amazing power with the Light, and in the end had ended by drinking from the cup herself.

 

The fire haired elven Paladin had been sent by Lor'themar Theron in Silvermoon City to inform her of the final preparations for the meeting with the Quel'dorei which was to take place. In the past week, the situation had deteriorated further but the High Elves acknowledged leadership had agreed to wait until she came to address them. But she could afford no more time to prepare than what she had been given, regardless of Lordaeron's ongoing need of her during the reconstruction. If she delayed any further, the risk of Lor'themar losing all control of Quel'Thalas was imminent and she knew he would be forced to respond with bloodshed, elf against elf, no matter how much he abhorred the idea. And then her own human troops would be called in as the nearest Horde aligned forces, and many of them, human and elf, would likely lose the lives that had just been returned to them.

 

It was something none of them wanted.

 

The man then stood up, a kind of energy and nobility in his movements even as they spoke of grave responsibility. He turned around, his open eyes briefly filled with golden light before it faded to reveal very human, and very surprised orbs as they looked upon her seated form.

 

“Warchief, this is Lord Grayson Shadowbreaker, the man who encouraged us to slay the newly risen.” Liadrin announced accusingly as she saw the man's full face. Liadrin's own sword came out of its scabbard as she assumed a relaxed but ready stance against the unarmed man. Righteous anger flashed across her face as she said his name, remembering what he had come to ask them all to do.

 

The man's head turned quickly between Sylvanas and Liadrin as recognition dawned across his own features as well.

 

Upon hearing his name, anger flashed across Sylvanas' expression as well and she instinctively reached for the bow she carried with her as a part of her own body, her other hand reaching for an arrow.

 

“No, wait!” The man called out, then pulled around a canvas pack he had been carrying, and pulled out a folded piece of parchment from it, meaning to hand it to Sylvanas herself.

 

By that time, Sylvanas' bow was in her hand, and an arrow was drawn and aimed at the center of the muscular human's chest. “What is this?!” Sylvanas demanded even she she was a fraction of a second from letting her arrow fly.

 

 _Wait. Hear him out._ Jeshua's quiet, determined voice ran through her mind.

 

“It is a letter from Jeshua's emissary, Andrew Haleis. I was sent here by him... and by Jeshua himself.” The man responded, still holding the letter out towards her, a strange look of resignation on his face. He then said, “I am unarmed, and bear no ill will.”

 

“Emissary,” Sylvanas directed her voice to Jim who had been standing nearby watching the events unfold with a serious, concerned expression, “take the letter and read it.”

 

But Jim responded honestly, “I never had a lot of schooling. My reading ain't so good, your majesty.”

 

“I can, by your leave.” Bishop Faol, who had also been standing next to Jim, then spoke up.

 

Sylvanas nodded without taking her eyes off of the offending man.

 

The cleric slowly and deliberately walked up to the man and took the paper from his hand, opening it and scanning down the single page. After a minute or so, he said, “It is from Andrew, your majesty. He speaks of Jeshua instructing him to go to Tarren Mill to find this man, and then of teaching him of Jeshua for the past week. Andrew says that Jeshua himself has chosen this man to be the 'instrument of his will.'”

 

“Is this true?” Sylvanas demanded from the man uncertainly.

 

The man looked her in the eyes even as her arrow never left its mark and told her, “I was on a mission to destroy the people of Tarren Mill when Jeshua knocked me off of my Gryphon fifty feet to the ground and took my sight from me. He sent me to find Andrew in the very town I meant to raze to the ground so that he could restore my sight. I will not lie to you. Lady Liadrin is right. It was in ignorance to the truth, but I meant to be a murderer. If you choose to fire that arrow, I won't try and stop you.”

 

 _Forgive, Sylvanas. It's hard I know._ Jeshua's voice came to her again.

 

There were several more tense seconds before the queen lowered the arrow, and relaxed her bowstring.

 

“Stand down, Liadrin.” She then gave the Paladin instruction. “I will hear him out.”

 

“I lost my connection to the Light. I didn't know why at the time.” Grayson told them all, looking from person to person. “I had thought that by destroying those I thought to be unholy and evil, I could regain it by proving my faith. But Jeshua himself came to me in a vision, in several visions. The Holy Light reached out to me to stop me and bring me to my senses, and here in this place I too accepted Jeshua's pact and in return he bade me kneel and renew my vows to the Holy Light as his Paladin and in his service with the Light as my armor and his message as my hammer. I am wholly his to do with as he sees fit.”

 

As he spoke, an aura of light gently enveloped him as if to reinforce its return to him. At the sight, even Liadrin lowered her sword in awe at what had transpired.

 

 _You asked for help._ Jeshua's voice spoke within her mind. _I give you my champion._


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

 

In Stormwind two days after the attack in the Cathedral...

 

“Martha!” The elderly man called out for his wife anxiously as he entered the blue tile roofed row house and closed the wooden door quickly behind him. His eyes moved up and down the narrow street, looking for watchful eyes before shutting the inside of his home off from it. “Martha! Where are you?”

 

His eyes looked panicked as he called out for his wife of forty years. Wasn't she in the house? She was there when he had left after breakfast to look in on the shop and have his morning walk about town. It had become his regular routine in his old age to try and keep exercising his increasingly tired body, and neither had thought anything of it before he left.

 

Now, he silently cursed himself for leaving her alone.

 

“I'm here, Jacob!” She called back, the silver haired, aging woman somewhat annoyed that he was yelling her name through the house. “What's all the fuss?” She demanded as she came down the aging wooden steps to their home in her gray house dress, her hair done up in a functional, if somewhat haphazard bun with strands of white and silver slipping out defiantly.

 

And then she saw the fear in her husband's usually cheerful, kind face, and knew that there was something indeed _very_ wrong. His breath came hard as though he had almost jogged home, and his skin was pale as though something had scared him quite badly.

 

“Why Jacob, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost!” She pronounced, worry about her husband etched in the crow's feet in her eyes, and the laugh lines around her face.

 

“Martha, pack your things; just the bare essentials. There's a ship bound for Darnassus leaving in a couple of hours and we need to be on it.” He told her in no uncertain terms. “We need to leave Stormwind today.”

 

“Why?” Martha questioned, a look of confusion on her face. “Jacob Davidson, what's gotten into you? Why should we need to leave for the other side of the world? You promised Joseph that you'd look after his shop. We're not as young as we used to be, we can't just pick up and leave like some teenage adventurers on a whim.”

 

 _She doesn't know_. He realized. _She really doesn't know what's happened._

 

Martha usually got most of her news from her husband those days. Unlike his more adventurous personality, his wife had always been more of a homebody preferring her knitting and her books to walking about town and visiting with people. Years before, he had wanted to take her with himself and his son to Darnassus, but the prospect of leaving what she knew for something strange and exotic had not sat well with her.

 

When he had gone for his walk the day before, he had heard about the horrendous events in the Cathedral, but the details had been few. The venerable church had been swarmed by Stormwind soldiers and intelligence agents questioning anyone and everyone in the Cathedral district, and all that anyone would say was that there had been some kind of a massacre, but no one would say who had died or how many people.

 

That veil had been lifted that morning, and it hadn't taken the old master carpenter long to realize the danger his wife and he were now in.

 

Jacob shook his hoary, rugged head as he tried to explain, “Everything's changed Martha. There was an attack in the Cathedral day before yesterday. Lord Greymane's dead, along with a dozen patrol guards. They're saying that it's our grandson's followers that did it, and that they've kidnapped the king. They're saying they've got some kind of proof, part of a tabard or something that was left behind. Posters offering gold for any information on Jeshua or his followers are going up all over the city. There are Priests from the Cathedral making rounds with armed soldiers. Martha, they know who we are and what our connection to Jeshua is.”

 

“But... That doesn't have anything to do with us? Does it?” She tried to comprehend his frantic words. “I can't believe that our grandson would have told anyone to do anything like that. He was always too kind of a boy, and those people from the Keep told Miriam and Joseph he was somehow responsible for all the good things that happened with that Dawn Event. Why would his followers do anything like that? And we certainly wouldn't.”

 

“No, of course not, but that doesn't...” He tried to reason with her.

 

“Well, then we'll just explain to them the truth.” She insisted, as though that would solve everything.

 

 _If only._ Jacob secretly wished.

 

“Martha Davidson, you need to listen to what I'm saying.” Jacob's voice lowered and stabilized as he poured all his effort into willing her to understand what was happening. “Stormwind Intelligence is involved and they don't follow the same rules that the patrols do. They don't know us and don't care who we are. Those people out there don't care about what we say, or maybe even what the truth is. The king is missing, and an Alliance leader is dead. The priesthood knows who we are, that Jeshua's our grandson, and that the children refused to renounce him. Sooner or later, there's going to be a knock at this door. We need to not be here when it comes. Do you understand?”

 

Martha's facial muscles went through several expressions as she tried to grasp what her husband was saying until she brought her hands to her mouth as comprehension dawned. “Oh, dear! Oh Holy Light!” She finally said, and hurried back upstairs to pack a light bag for herself.

 

She was followed by her husband who, upon entering their bedroom pulled out an old leather backpack that had served him on his previous voyage to the Night Elf capital two decades before and threw it on the bed. He grabbed a couple of changes of clothes, a small bag of toiletries, and a small purse of gold and silver coins he kept in his night stand for emergencies. It would be enough money to hold them for a time if they were frugal.

 

“It's been a long time for us, but for the Night Elves and their thousands of years long lives my last visit might have only been a couple of weeks ago. I still have a friend in the tradesman's part of Darnassus, the woodworking master who taught Joseph and me. I'm certain he'll remember me. He told me I'd be welcome to stay with him again if I ever returned.” He explained to her as he finished his own packing and buckled the pack closed. “That Draenei fellow that visited Miriam and helped them get north, his people's lands aren't too far from Teldrassil either. I think I heard that there were regular ships that ran in between them. Worse comes to worst, we might be able to try and find him as well, let him know what's happened if he doesn't know already.”

 

“But what about our pictures? I don't want to leave them behind.” Martha told him as she too had placed a minimal amount of clothes and a few toiletries in her own satchel. “They're all we've got of the children right now.”

 

She gestured at the photographs and small painted portraits of their family which decorated the bedroom. They had been commissioned at some expense to them, and represented so many years of watching her son, his wife, and her grandchildren grow.

 

Jacob's face softened. He didn't want to leave them behind either, but he had to steel himself just a little as he told his wife, “Hopefully we'll be able to come back and they'll still be here. We'll lock the door to be sure no one comes in and messes with them.”

 

The suggestion seemed too simplistic even to Jacob as he said it. But she nodded her head in response and said, “Yes, we'll only be gone for a short time anyways. Until this all blows over, right?” She looked at him with some hope in her eyes.

 

“Right. Until this all blows over.” Jacob responded.

 

“Well, I suppose I've never seen Darnassus. You always said it was beautiful and you wanted to take me there some day, but you never did. I guess now's as good of a time as any.” She then told him, trying to smile and hide the fear which had erupted within her. Fear for herself, for her husband, and for their children and grandchildren wherever they might be just then.

 

Jacob could see the tears in her beautiful hazel eyes she was trying to fight to keep down and he wanted to do anything he could to comfort her.

 

“It's been long overdue.” He then agreed, attempting to suppress his own fear for her sake and turn it into something more positive. “You're right, it's high time I kept my word and showed you the world.”

 

They both finished packing, and then grabbing their coats they quickly left their home of thirty plus years and locked the door behind them. Instinctively, they both looked back at it. It had been one of the “new” constructions not long after Stormwind City had been razed at the end of the first war, and Jacob and his newly married bride had been lucky during the reconstruction to have gotten it.

 

Then taking his wife's hand, Joseph and she walked discreetly north through the city's cobblestone streets, across the canals, and towards Stormwind Harbor. Both of them tried hard not to notice the vellum posters that were tacked up at intervals along the walls and doors of the city.

 

From a distance, a Stormwind patrol guard noticed the two senior citizens making their way towards the harbor with packed bags. They appeared to be walking quickly for elderly folks.

 

 _Probably trying to make their cruise on time. Older folks must be going on vacation._ The guard decided, dismissing them. _Smart people. I've got some vacation time saved up. I'm ready to get out of this city for a while too. Maybe someplace tropical like Booty Bay. I could lie on a beach and drink rum. Except it's run by Goblins. Damn. There goes my savings, but it'd be worth it to get away from this detail..._

 

He then returned to his task at hand as the Priest who had been assigned to himself and his parter directed them towards the next house to “inquire” at.

 

* * *

 

Much earlier that morning in Pyrewood Village, Silverpine Forest...

 

“GENN, NO!!!” The handsome, blond young man shouted as he woke with a jolt in the shadows, sitting up straight in a bed.

 

Disoriented, he looked around him trying to determine where he was. The only light in the room he found himself in came from an oil lantern turned down to a mere flicker. He felt around himself, and found he was only wearing his shirt and trousers. Someone had removed his outer coat, boots, and gloves. A thin patched blanket had been covering him up to his chest. His mouth felt dry and his stomach rebelled as though horribly abused.

 

He didn't recognize the tiny bedroom at all. The walls and wood looked old and weathered. An empty bookcase nearby looked as if it hadn't held any books in a long time. A well worn dresser stood against the wall opposite the bookcase, and an equally weathered nightstand was at his right hand where sat the oil lantern. Across from the bed was a closed wooden door.

 

“What happened?” He asked aloud. “Where am I?”

 

His most recent memories felt hazy as he struggled to understand how he got there. He remembered the Cathedral, and being surrounded by soldiers, and a silver Worgen attacking them, and...

 

It came back to him.

 

“Oh Genn, why? What did you do?” He asked, putting his hands to his face at the memory. “I could have saved them. I could have...”

 

They had been ambushed, he remembered. Good men's lives had been lost no matter how hard he had tried to prevent it. Genn had attacked them and then had attacked him.

 

Had the Worgen lord been a part of it? Anduin didn't know. Genn Greymane could be a stubborn old man who played by his own rules, but he had a hard time believing the man capable of betraying him. And yet his last memory was of Greymane shouting, “For Azeroth!” before attacking his own person.

 

A knock came at the door and it creaked open. A middle aged man in shabby clothes of Gilnean style stepped into the room. He wore leather boots and a black waistcoat over a dirty, button down white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and collar undone. His hair was dark with streaks of gray and silver running across the sides of his head and through his beard. His eyes were blue and intelligent. His features and expression were strong, as of a man who had suffered much, but had come through stronger for it.

 

“You're awake, that's good.” The man told him. His voice was friendly, but carried an accent that Anduin had rarely heard before. “You've been out since I found you. I wasn't sure if you were going to pull through. It looked like you took a bad blow to the head.”

 

Spying a simple wooden stool, the man took it and used it to sit down next to Anduin's bed.

 

“Here, you'll probably need this.” The man told him. He produced a skin of water and handed it to Anduin, who began to sip from it thirstily.

 

“Where am I?” Anduin asked between drinking bouts, looking the man in the eyes.

 

“You're in Pyrewood Village, son, in Silverpine Forest. I found you on the outskirts of Gilneas City on my last foray in yesterday, and brought you back here.” The man told him. “You're lucky the feral Worgen didn't find you first. They still roam the place at times. Damned hard to kill too.”

 

“Gilneas?” Anduin looked confused. “How did I get to Gilneas?”

 

The man withdrew a small, smooth white stone with a blue spiral etched into one side and showed it to him. “I found this in your left hand. I would assume this is how, though why anyone would set a Hearthstone to that place is beyond me. I only go in to forage for anything usable or that I can sell. It's not like anyone's coming back for the stuff.”

 

Anduin tried to process this new information. Where had the Hearthstone come from, and how had he used it unconscious? None of it made any sense.

 

“Who are you?” The young man then asked his benefactor.

 

“I was about to ask you the same question. My name's Horus, Horus Bleakwater.” The man responded. “And yours?”

 

Anduin hesitated. If he was in Silverpine Forest, then he was also alone in Horde controlled territory. At the same time, he was _alone_ except for the Holy Light. He had never been here before, and had no idea of how to return to Stormwind on his own.

 

Horus caught the hesitation in the young man's face, and studied him. “Maybe I can save you some of the trouble.” He finally said. “I'll be right back.”

 

He got up from his stool and left the room briefly. When he returned, he was holding Anduin's long blue overcoat covered with the symbols of Stormwind's monarchy in one hand, and his father's sword, Shalamayne in the other. “I had hoped you'd be able to explain this honestly.”

 

“So, you know who I am?” Anduin asked.

 

“I know you're no commoner, and that you're from Stormwind. But that's about all I could discern. I don't exactly move in high born circles.” Horus told him. “Much less Alliance ones. If I'm going to decide what to do with you, it would help if I knew who you were exactly.”

 

“Anduin. Anduin Wrynn.” The king of Stormwind finally decided to risk it. If the man had wanted to kill him, he could have done so at any time in the last two days.

 

The older man's eyebrows raised and a calculating look spread over his features. “Well now, I wasn't expecting that, now was I?”

 

“I'm sure you weren't.” Anduin replied, feeling a tension in the air around him. “So, now what?”

 

The man gave a half grin, “I'm sure you'd be worth a pretty penny to the right people. Once upon a time, I might've even made sure of it.” He said. “But then one day I woke up to find my heart beating, my skin without maggots, and my lungs filling with air. Ever since then, I haven't had the stomach for such things. I just got my life handed back to me. I've no desire to take it from someone else, no matter who it is.”

 

“Because of Jeshua?” Anduin asked.

 

“So I've heard, though I never had the pleasure of the man's company. I hear he's got some followers or something up in Lordaeron City or whatever the Undercity's called now. I've had mind to check them out at some point. I owe someone some big favor for this.” Horus showed Anduin the whole, bare living skin of his hand, bluish green veins slightly visible under his skin. “I'm just sorry my wife didn't survive long enough to see it too. She went mad about five years ago when the brain rot took her and I had to put her down myself with a shotgun to her head. I had to make sure she stayed down, you see.”

 

The man's plain statement about having to end his own wife shocked Anduin's sensibilities deeply, but then he could see the hints of pain in the man's face as he remembered it. He himself had rarely thought of what the daily life of the undead Forsaken must have been like. How much choice had the man been given? Had it been murder, or the kindest thing he could have done?

 

“I'm sorry.” The young man responded sincerely, trying to imagine having to make the awful decision. He couldn't fathom it.

 

“So was I,” The man replied, then adding, “There was nothing more I could for her.” He replied, sorrow evident in his voice before he pushed it back. “There wasn't a cure back then like what happened here with the New Dawn.”

 

Anduin considered everything the man told him carefully as he tried to form a plan of action. He was so deep within Horde territory that reaching an Alliance outpost would take more than a week on foot if he remembered his geography correctly. At the moment, Horus wasn't interested in harming him, or selling him for ransom, but would he help him? And if so, where could he go?

 

His memory of the ambush came back even stronger. He knew the effects of fel magic when he saw them, and the mind control and insane laughter had the earmarks of the Shadow disciplines. As he replayed what he remembered in his mind, it became apparent someone he had thought to trust had betrayed them. Someone in Stormwind had betrayed them and at least a dozen men had lost their lives. He didn't know what had happened to Genn. As much as he didn't want to believe it, his former friend who attacked both the mind controlled soldiers and Anduin himself may have been that traitor. If so, Genn could have spun any story he wanted, and for all he knew, could be acting in his stead.

 

It was a terrible thought to consider. But then how had he used a Hearthstone, and why had he arrived in Gilneas? None of it made any sense.

 

He weighed his options and found them few until Horus spoke up once again, “You know, you're not going to be able to get anywhere wearing those royal clothes you were. Not everyone around here is so forgiving of Stormwind or the Alliance. I'll tell you what. I've got a couple of spare sets of clothes I scavenged from the city. You're about my size, so I think they might fit you too. You might be able to pass for someone from Tirisfal Glades if you don't talk too much, but you'll have to keep your sword out of sight. Anyone looking at it will know it's no common blade.”

 

“Thank you.” Anduin replied.

 

Horus then took a breath and sighed as though he had been considering something important and had come to a decision. “I've got a couple of horses and a wagon I use for trading the stuff I collect. I could do that up in Lordaeron just as well as locally. Maybe it's time I visited Lordaeron City and saw for myself what all this Jeshua business was about. I hear the Cathedral of Light there has been reopened. It could be maybe you'd find some sympathetic ear there to help you out, at least find some way back to your own people. You never know.”

 

“Why would you help me, Horus?” Anduin asked.

 

“I've got my own reasons. It's no great deal if I'm heading that way anyway, and long trips get boring without someone to talk to.” The man told him somewhat dismissively.

 

Horus then stood up from the stool he had been sitting at, setting the sword tip down against a wall for Anduin to claim, and his long ornate coat he laid at the foot of the bed. “Sun's almost up. I've got some eggs and mushrooms I can cook up for breakfast for the both of us.” He told him. Then, upon reflection he added, “Just don't ask where the eggs came from. You probably don't want to know.”

 

* * *

 

Netherlight Temple beyond Azeroth in the Twisting Nether...

 

The view of the world through the immense stained glass windows was somewhat clouded as always. In truth, Calia Menethil had never seen what lay beyond those windows clearly, and never wanted to. It was a harsh, unforgiving, hellish emerald environment beyond the confines of the temple which gave birth to demons and more, and she knew it even as she found solace there.

 

It was a far cry from the world of her birth. As she remembered Azeroth it had been a world of terrors, yes, but also of beauty. And in her mind's eye she could remember her own homeland of Lordaeron clearly as it was in her youth. The cool shade of the trees, the bright warm sun in the summertime, the clear, pristine lakes and the vast open sea to the north, and the great walls of the city itself, a beacon of the Light and of human civilization for all the world to see.

 

But all that had been lost to her decades before when her brother...

 

She shoved the thought of her brother aside. He was gone. He had been lost to her when he chose to take up the cursed sword Frostmourne, he had been lost to humankind when he slew their father with that damnable blade, and he had finally been lost once and for all to their world, put down by the Ashbringer's blows.

 

Her strawberry blond hair had begun to turn silver before the Legion war, and was much farther on its way now. Her sea green eyes still held the spark of wit and intelligence which the Menethil line had been known for, set in what had been the beautiful, almost elf like features of a young woman now become the mature handsome features of a middle aged priestess, devoted to the Holy Light. Her robes were white and gilded as to reflect her chosen path of devotion. In her left hand was a folded piece of parchment, a letter from an old friend which had been discreetly passed to her.

 

It read:

 

_Calia,_

 

_Everything we have heard is true, and more. There are no more undead left in Lordaeron, or all of Azeroth. Our whole people have been restored and redeemed by the Light. I too have regained my living flesh thanks to one of this Jeshua's emissaries. Be this as it may, I do not believe it safe yet for you to return until I have ascertained the full mood of the people towards you and the House of Menethil, though my first impressions are not encouraging._

 

_Sylvanas Windrunner, Nathanos Blightcaller, and their force of rangers have also been restored to their living selves. She still retains power and calls herself queen of these people, a title I have yet to hear challenged by anyone. From what I have been able to learn, she has been working tirelessly to provide for them under their new circumstances, and she is much respected by them if not loved for it._

 

_Remain at Netherlight Temple for now until I know more and am able to ensure your safe return home, if not to your rightful throne._

 

_Alonsus Faol_

 

The letter had come to her weeks before, and she had scrawled out a reply agreeing to remain and wait. In truth, it had been so long, she cared little for the throne of her ancestors even choosing to forego her surname of _Menethil_ and just be known as “Calia” within the walls of the temple. It was never supposed to be hers to begin with, but was supposed to pass to her brother. After the Scourge overran Lordaeron, she believed it lost to her entirely, and she focused on learning from her mentor and spiritual father who hid and protected her as best he could, even though being undead himself at the time. He fostered her in her faith and protected her for decades until the redemption of this former prison and the void god which it had been used to hold that had been transformed and redeemed to the being of Light it had been born as, Saa'ra. The Naaru's light had been a source of strength and comfort for her, and she found the desire to leave the temple herself and return to Azeroth less and less after the Legion War had concluded. There was a peace which she had found there, devoting herself to meditation and contemplation, which had been missing for much of her life.

 

That peace had been disrupted when she had learned of the miraculous change to her homeland, and she found herself longing for the home she had been resigned to never seeing again. But it was still a homeland in the hands of people who had dark memories of the name “Menethil.”

 

She had yet to hear another reply from Bishop Faol. She had yet to hear much more news from Azeroth on any front. Many of her fellow priests had returned there after what had been called the Dawn Event, and even the High Priest himself had used the portal to attend the funeral of Stormwind's High Priestess Laurena. He had not yet returned having to formally oversee the conclave of Stormwind's priesthood which would elect another bishop to take Laurena's place.

 

She turned away from the window and descended the steps down to the main floor of the sanctuary, breathing intentionally and meditating as she did so. She sought the Light's will as she always did, and considered entering Saa'ra's chamber once more to continue her meditation there. The great being had been the first to inform Bishop Faol and herself of Jeshua and the Light's will concerning him. It had been difficult to believe at first. A man born of the Holy Light itself? But that man had singlehandedly transformed their world for the better. Not all those of the Conclave agreed that it was for the better. Shadow Priests in particular sounded warning after warning of doom and gloom coming from the Light's interference in the balance like this. None however could argue who or what he had been from the Naaru's testimony.

 

“Calia.” A familiar man's voice addressed her. It had been spoken in a low voice, but had echoed enough within the sanctuary for her to hear it and turn to see who had spoken.

 

When she saw him, her hand came to her mouth in surprise and shock.

 

“Your grace?” She asked, seeing the living face of Alonsus Faol for the first time in decades. “Is it really you?”

 

“It is, child. I am myself once more.” He told her, drawing close. “I hope you are as well as I feel.”

 

“Is it really possible then? Lordaeron has been restored? I received your letter, but hadn't dared believe it to be true.” She exclaimed.

 

“It is true. Every word. Jeshua has done everything Saa'ra told us he would, and more. The Kingdom of Light has truly come, Calia.” The older man responded. “And there is more even.”

 

“More?” She asked. “Is it safe for me to return home?”

 

“Perhaps. Sylvanas has not indicated any hostility towards myself. I am not certain she knows of your existence yet, but I have learned something about Jeshua's parentage and her reaction to it which may indicate she would accept your presence as long as you make no claim to Lordaeron's throne.” He told her.

 

“What about the Lightborn's parentage?” She questioned, her expression uncertain and confused. “What does that have to do with me?”

 

“Perhaps we should find someplace to sit and discuss this privately. Yes, you will certainly want to be sitting down.” He told her, gesturing towards the temple's cloister common room. “There is something about Jeshua's ancestry you must know.” He told her as they walked. “Something you will want to know.”

 

“What is it?” She asked, a feeling of nervousness creeping up within her as they went through the archway and into the common room.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

 

In Quel'Thalas...

 

“I hope you can understand Thalassian, Paladin.” The queen, wearing the blue hood and gilded chain armor of a Ranger General of Quel'Thalas, had told Grayson without irony before they departed Lordaeron along with Lady Liadrin by way of the red orb translocation device still positioned in a side courtyard not far from the city's main entry. “Those present at this gathering won't be speaking human common.”

 

It was still another reminder of the conditions of the “new life” he had embraced since falling from his gryphon's back. Human common was so widely known that even most members of the Horde understood at least a few words. It was the main _lingua franca_ used for trade across Azeroth, and could be heard spoken by human, elf, Orc, or goblin among the apolitical Orders. But the elves of Quel'Thalas would have no need to resort to it at a gathering of their own people. He would be the outsider. It would be his responsibility to keep up.

 

“It's rusty, but yes.” Had been his response. In truth, he had picked up Thalassian as a much younger man towards the end of the second war when Quel'Thalas had been a solid member of the Alliance, but had only recently had the chance to practice it during the Legion war with the Blood Knights who had become an integral part of the Order of the Silver Hand. He could understand more than he could actually speak, however.

 

“Good, I don't want to have to hold your hand through this.” Liadrin had then responded in Thalassian.

 

He had understood her meaning clearly, both explicit and implicit. She still didn't trust him for many reasons. Grayson had not known Liadrin well even during the Legion war. He had spent much of that conflict within the Sanctum of Light as a strategist assisting the Paladin Highlord with logistics, planning strikes, and with coordinating the resources of the Order of the Silver Hand. It had been an important if inglorious role for the Stormwind Paladin lord. Liadrin had frequently been out in the field under fire alongside Lord Tyrosus, the Night Elf Paladin Delas Moonfang, and Vindicator Boros when she wasn't called on to lead Silvermoon's own troops against the Legion forces in Suramar City. He hadn't actually worked closely for any length of time with any of the Sunwalkers or the Blood Knights, communicating with them when he needed to for missions and no more, and at the time had been secretly thankful he hadn't. He had imagined waking up one morning on a mission only to find an elven or Tauren sword in his back.

 

He could never have imagined the role he was now being called to play. It would have been unthinkable.

 

The strange turn of events in Grayson's life over the last week and a half was beginning to take its toll, those events becoming more and more surreal as they unfolded around him. He didn't know how much more drastic change his mind could take. In that time, he had gone from the intent of destroying Jeshua's followers to joining them. He had gone from rejecting and despising Jeshua to serving him with his whole heart and mind willingly. He had moved from despising Sylvanas Windrunner, warchief of the Horde, to agreeing to help her reconcile those elves which were hostile to the Horde. And while he found himself still not necessarily in her good graces, she at least was not still aiming an arrow at his unarmored breast.

 

After she had lowered her arrow from its lethal mark in the Cathedral, she then appeared to be wrestling with herself as she looked at him appraisingly for several minutes. And then she stunned everyone present when the queen requested that Grayson Shadowbreaker accompany her and the Blood Knight Matriarch to Quel'Thalas. It had surprised no one more than himself when he found himself agreeing to help the Warchief of the Horde.

 

Was he himself now a traitor to Stormwind for doing it? He wrestled hard with that question. But the greater question which always came to him in response was, “Who is your first allegiance to?”

 

The answer would always be, then and forever, _the Holy Light._ And he knew it had been the Light calling him to serve _it_ in this way, and not the Horde or the Alliance, by assisting Sylvanas in bringing peace and not more bloodshed to the people of her birth.

 

And within him he had felt more than heard Jeshua explicitly telling him, _Go with her_. He took it as an order from his true sovereign lord and obeyed. _Yes, my lord._

 

They had been immediately teleported from Lordaeron City to a chamber just off the throne room of the royal palace within Silvermoon City. He had as a matter of course experienced teleportation magic many times, but he found himself just slightly disoriented and his stomach a touch queazy at the abruptness and immediateness of the efficient, ruby colored, elven orb which gave no warning, no time to prepare oneself for being relocated as a Hearthstone or a mage's portal did.

 

The three were met by a tall elven man with long white blond hair and crimson eye patch. A long scar ran across his face which looked worn out and tired as though the burdens and welfare of an entire nation about which he cared deeply fell on his shoulders and was threatening to crush him entirely. He wore crimson, regal robes with gilded fringes over a leather and chain hauberk. A two handed sword of uniquely elven make hung from a harness on his back.

 

He had been accompanied by an honor guard of half a dozen elven soldiers in golden ceremonial armor reminiscent of the firebirds Grayson had heard of which resurrected themselves from the flames when they died.

 

The elven nobleman greeted his Warchief politely in the elvish tongue, “Thank you for coming, although I had hoped it would have been sooner.”

 

“It couldn't be helped, Lor'themar. I am Warchief of the entire Horde, not only of Quel'Thalas.” Sylvanas had replied in the same language, her voice hard with authority. “I had far too many Orc shipping captains to placate, and bereaved families to see to because of what's happening here.”

 

And then Lor'themar's eyes fell on the bare foot human stranger he did not know. Sylvanas had insisted that Grayson wear something else than the dirty, plain clothes with which he had entered the Cathedral, and Liadrin had agreed that his smelly, worn travel attire wouldn't do. She had been adamant that her elven kin would hesitate at the very least with the presence of an outsider, they would be aghast at one dressed as a homeless vagrant. It had been Alonsus Faol who had then remembered a set of plain white cassock and trousers that had sat folded in a sealed chest in the cloister unused and forgotten. They had been initiate's robes from the time before Lordaeron had fallen to the Scourge, and a far cry from his gilded nobleman's armor. The only adornment had been a monogram on the accompanying stole which reflected a devotion to the Holy Light. The Paladin had donned the clean clothing, but Grayson had insisted on leaving his feet bare as Jeshua had. Sylvanas had pronounced him acceptable.

 

“Why is this human here?” Lor'themar asked brusquely, addressing the two elven women. “This matter concerns our own people, not outsiders.”

 

Sylvanas paused for a moment and then responded with the same tone of authority, “Because I chose to bring him, Lor'themar. That should be enough of a reason for you.”

 

Lor'themar's expression had then reacted as though he had been physically slapped, even though she hadn't laid a hand on him. “Of... Of course, Warchief, but the Quel'dorei may not see it the way the Sindorei would.”

 

“This human is one of Jeshua's... emissaries.” Lady Liadrin spoke up, her own face set as though ready for combat. “The Warchief believed it would be beneficial if the risen Quel'dorei met one of the representatives of the man responsible for their resurrection, and that he is no enemy of the Horde.”

 

The faintest glimmer of surprise at Liadrin's words passed across Sylvanas' features before they too hardened once more into that of a Warchief that did not take well to having her decisions questioned. She added nothing verbally to Liadrin's explanation, but her facial expression spoke volumes as it demanded the Regent Lord submit to her will.

 

Surprised and disturbed by Liadrin's explanation, Grayson once more wrestled within himself. _I am no enemy of the Horde?_ He felt his grip on his previous life slipping even further from his grasp. _My first allegiance is to the Holy Light, not to the Alliance._ He reminded himself, though the unease did not lessen quickly. And then her explanation of his presence fully registered, _She called me one of Jeshua's emissaries?_ That deception didn't sit well with him at all. He did not feel worthy of such a title on any level.

 

 _What could she have been thinking?_ He wondered. _Better to call me a slave, or an attendant of some kind._

 

Nevertheless, he responded in heavily accented, but recognizable Thalassian, “I live to serve the Holy Light through Jeshua Lightborn.” He didn't know where the words came from, though he knew they were true.

 

“Very well.” Lor'themar relented, considering this. “Perhaps it is wisdom after all. Please, come. There are mages waiting to teleport us to Tranquilien.”

 

He gestured for them to begin walking. Sylvanas then took the lead as he came up next to her to continue their conversation.

 

“Tranquilien?” Grayson heard Sylvanas question, an uncertain tone in her voice.

 

“Yes, I have been informed that the Quel'dorei delegates will be waiting for us there... along with your sisters, Vereesa and Alleria, Warchief. I am led to believe that they have resumed their occupation of your family's former holdings at Windrunner Spire and are using it as a base of operations.” Lor'themar told her.

 

Sylvanas' whole body appeared to tense up at the mention of her ancestral roots even as she walked. It took a minute before she replied, “As I might have expected them to. Those lands are just as much theirs as they are mine.”

 

“Of course, Warchief.” Lor'themar answered.

 

It hit Grayson just then that Sylvanas Windrunner did have a family. That she did have emotions and feelings. He had known it of course, that some time before she had died she had to have had a family. How could she not have had? But for so long he had seen her as only the Banshee, the undead ruler of undead horrors, incapable of emotion or feeling. Suddenly he realized she was a living, breathing _person_. She had been someone's daughter before the Lich King stole her life from her, and someone's sister. There had been people who had loved her, and that she had loved in return, and those relationships had been brutally twisted and damaged by Arthas' violation of her. Silently, in spite of himself, his heart went out to her as he gauged the pained reaction she tried to hide at the mention of her sisters.

 

They reached an ornate chamber where three elven mages in crimson and purple robes stood waiting. Lor'themar gave a signal and the entire party gathered together tightly in a circle in the middle of the room The magic users took up positions at three points around the party and began their incantations.

 

Grayson knew the magic very well as he mentally prepared himself for the shift and counted down from ten as the blue shimmering power built around them until it reached a crescendo and Grayson's silent count reached zero. And then in a flash of light, the chamber was empty.

 

And Grayson found himself and the rest of the party he had teleported with in the middle of a High Elven village situated on both sides of a paved stone highway. The domed, gilded buildings were elegant and graceful even in their current state of repair or lack thereof. The sky above was clear and sunny, the noon time sun having reached its apex just then, and the scents of fragrant trees wafted on cool breezes. He had never visited Quel'Thalas before, but the sights and the scents, and the sounds of the woods which surrounded the town were everything he might have imagined the elven lands would be, magical and beautiful.

 

Sylvanas too appeared to be affected, though she struggled to hide it, Grayson briefly saw her eyes mist over at the sight of her restored homeland. It had then occurred to him that she had not made the return home in a long, long time. _How many memories must be surfacing by being here? How many of them pleasant, how many not?_ He wondered.

 

Around them, interspersed among the buildings, and surrounding makeshift cooking fires were elves, men and women, young and old, though none who appeared young enough to be children. Among them were a few humans still wearing armor and clothing decorated with the symbols of death which had been favored by the Forsaken once upon a time not long before, although their tabards had been replaced by the new white, gold, and red symbol of Lordaeron.

 

“Your majesty! Thank you for coming!” A human man in armor came up quickly but respectfully to address the Warchief also in Thalassian, dropping to one knee and bowing as he did. “High Executor Mavren, at your command.”

 

“Rise, High Executor. What is happening?” She told him, assuming a business like posture and persona, ignoring the additional dampness in her eyes as she met his unflinchingly.

 

“There is a table set up with seats for the delegates inside the meeting house. Appropriate food and drink has been conjured by those mages with the skills. The Quel'dorei have already gathered and been seated inside alongside those of our own people.” The man told her, motioning to the large domed, guilded white marble building with arched ramps like wings just to the east of the highway.

 

“They are all our people, High Executor. Remember that.” Sylvanas mildly rebuked him for his use of words.

 

“Of course, your majesty. My apologies.” The man replied, humbled. “I should mention, Vereesa and Alleria Windrunner have also taken seats inside as well. They have... They have not been helpful.” He told her trying to be tactful. “It's all we can do to keep the newly risen here from outright rebellion.”

 

“So I have been told.” She replied, once more tensing up at the mention of her sisters' names. She then added, “You have done well so far keeping what peace you have under the circumstances. I commend you for it.”

 

Surprised by what was generous praise coming from her, the man responded humbly as he bowed his head to her with one fist over his beating heart, “I only do my duty, your majesty, but thank you.”

 

“Shall we?” Lor'themar Theron then asked somewhat pleasantly, having witnessed the exchange.

 

Sylvanas turned and took the lead, followed by the Regent Lord. Lady Liadrin and the High Executor as they were flanked by the Silvermoon City royal guard. Grayson, being invited by the Warchief, stood next to Liadrin behind her and Lor'themar in the procession as they made their way to the elven town's meeting hall.

 

He could feel many pairs of elvish eyes on them, though hadn't observed any ill will. Instead, upon sight of Sylvanas, he could see some hopeful expressions in those eyes as they recognized their former military leader and hero, trying to work out what had happened to them over the last month.

 

Grayson wondered how many of the knew about the change which had recently been wrought in her as well. Would they have seen her as a hero if they had known about who and what she had been for the last thirty years?

 

 _It would help no one if they did._ He decided. _Who she was is clearly not who she is now._

 

They entered to find a large open chamber within the elvish building. True to the High Executor's word, there was a long meeting table and several plush, comfortable chairs ringing it which had been provided for the gathering. Crimson and Sapphire draping had been raised above opposite sides of the table, and magically produced lights floated in globes around the circumference of the room. The table itself had been covered with a purple silken table cloth, and golden goblets, plateware, and utensils. Bottles of wine and several dishes of Thalassian delicacies were spread along it. Elves dressed in serving clothes waited along the walls for someone to gesture for their services.

 

“Forgive me for the spartan nature of the room. Our resources have been sparse as I'm sure you can imagine.” The High Executor apologized as he drew up next to Lor'themar.

 

Grayson had to remind himself of the opulence to which the Sindorei and the Quel'dorei were accustomed to put his comment into context. Still, he felt it ironic at best.

 

“It is adequate for our purposes.” The Regent Lord replied in a generous tone.

 

A gasp was heard from across the chamber as the Warchief entered the room, her sapphire blue hood drawn over her head only barely hiding her face. Grayson's attention was drawn to a younger looking, attractive elven woman who bore a striking resemblance to Lordaeron's current queen. The woman had stood up from where she sat at the opposite end of the table as Sylvanas became visible to her. She had white blond hair braided back into a thick pony tail, and wore the armor and livery of the Silver Covenant faction of High Elves who had remained loyal to the Alliance. Both of her gloved hands had been brought involuntarily to her mouth in shock, her eyes wide at the sight of Sylvanas' living flesh.

 

Sylvanas' attention as well had been drawn to the elven woman immediately, as well as the other woman sitting at her sister's right hand who bore more than a passing resemblance to her. This woman wore a ranger's hood and cloak similar to the Warchief's chosen attire, except that they were a faded forest green. A bow and quiver of arrows were held securely to her back. Grayson could not see this woman's full expression, but only her mouth under her hood which appeared to twist in surprise as well.

 

The Warchief's expression grew sad as she looked upon both of her sisters for the first time in many, many years, since the second war if Grayson remembered correctly. She drew back her own sapphire hood to reveal her full, living, and, if the human was to be honest, heart stoppingly beautiful elven features for everyone to see, but said nothing by way of address to her kin. Only acknowledging their presence, a look of melancholy on her face as she saw them.

 

Sylvanas settled at the head of the table opposite her sister, Vereesa at the other end. Lor'themar took his position at Sylvanas' right hand, where Lady Liadrin, as the Matriarch of the Blood Knights, took her position at Sylvanas' left. The Paladin Lady gestured for Grayson to join her at her own left hand. The High Executor sat at Lor'themar's right hand. Opposite them were several elves which Grayson did not recognize at all, but assumed they had been among those restored after the New Dawn.

 

Except... they felt _dark_ to him as he took his seat. He noticed as well that the one, a woman with jet black hair, who sat immediately next to him looked physically disgusted or ill as he sat down and attempted to move her own seat further from him.

 

As Grayson looked around the table, he realized that most of the Quel'dorei delegation were discreetly and not so discreetly directing their eyes uncomfortably towards him. At first, he thought it was because he was human, but they paid no such attention to the balding but virile High Executor who was clearly human himself in spite of his fluent Thalassian.

 

There were several tense moments as the elder Windrunner sister also appeared to be appraising Grayson's presence as though something about him upset her. He did not know what it might be however. He had not said one word since entering.

 

“It is... good to see you again, sister.” Alleria finally spoke, addressing Sylvanas, as she drew back her own ranger's hood to reveal a woman who was every bit her younger sister's equal in beauty and natural authority. “In spite of your new found allegiances.”

 

“I would say the same to you, Alleria. It has been a long time.” Sylvanas replied, her own voice even. “And also to you, Vereesa.”

 

“But I must insist that this human you have brought with you leave at once.” Alleria then demanded. “He is an outsider with no stake and no useful input into these discussions.”

 

Surprised, Grayson then looked to those he had come with for any indication for what he should do, but the Warchief's gaze hardened as she replied with one authoritative word, “No.”

 

“No? Just like that you would force an outsider on us?” Alleria responded. “Is that what the Horde does? Is that who you've become?”

 

“Grayson Shadowbreaker is a representative of the man who gave all of the restored Quel'dorei back their lives. It is only because of the death and resurrection of Jeshua Lightborn that we are even sitting here today having this discussion. He stays.” She told her older sister in no uncertain terms.

 

And then Grayson thought he saw the elder Windrunner sister flinch at the mention of Jeshua's name. Once more, many of those other high elves around the table also looked ill when Sylvanas said his name.

 

 _What is going on here?_ Grayson wondered as his own instincts, honed by combat, kicked in. It felt as though he were in a room surrounded by hostiles, even though supposedly in support of the Alliance, and he didn't know why. They should have been more accepting of a human presence, not less.

 

Alleria laughed, a mocking unnatural laugh. “Lies. Horde lies all of it.” She announced to those present. “How could anything like this have originated within Horde occupied territory.” The timbre of her voice... there was something not quite right with it.

 

Next to her, Vereesa nodded in agreement. “We've been fighting against the Horde long enough to know that nothing good can originate from them. Theramore, the destruction of a peaceful druid academy in the Stone Talon mountains, the betrayal at the Broken Shore which resulted in Varian Wrynn's death. Need I go on, sister?”

 

Sylvanas visibly winced at the mention of the Broken Shore. It had been her decision to call the retreat when Warchief Vol'jin had falled in battle. If she hadn't, the Horde leadership would have completely collapsed and they all would have died anyway, including Varian Wrynn. But the Alliance had never seemed to understand or forgive.

 

“This has nothing to do with Horde or Alliance.” Sylvanas responded, controlling her voice. “We're here today to talk about why your people fired on ships carrying food and supplies to Quel'Thalas.”

 

“Horde transports.” Alleria then said, almost spitting the words.

 

“Does it really matter where they come from? Our people here in Quel'Thalas need the supplies now more than ever whether they come from Orc farms or human ones. The restored human populations of Lordaeron have been receiving their supplies from Orgrimmar as well as the Argent Crusade without incident.” Sylvanas told them. “High Overlord Saurfang has been more than generous, as has High Chieftain Bloodhoof, and you repaid that generosity with damaging Orc ships and murdering Orc sailors. I have neither seen nor heard of supplies being delivered from Alliance lands to Quel'Thalas. Either let the shipping come through and make landfall, or watch our newly living people starve themselves back into their graves.”

 

Sylvanas hadn't raised her voice. Her tone, forceful though it had been, was not threatening, but matter of fact. Still, as Grayson looked around, he knew it wasn't having the effect she had wanted. Her sisters and their companions had walked into the meeting chamber with their minds already made up. Around him, he could _feel_ a shadow rising.

 

“Is that so, _sister_?” Alleria returned, twisting her words. “You would see our people starve rather than have us seek assistance from our true allies in Stormwind, Ironforge, and Darnassus?”

 

“No. I would not, but it is clear to me that you would, Alleria.” Sylvanas answered her, her own voice taking on steel. “That is not the Ranger or _sister_ that loved our people that I remember.”

 

Alleria stood up from where she sat, “It doesn't matter what you look like now. You will always be the monster that the Lich King created.” She spat at her sister, taunting her.

 

Grayson listened to the exchange between the two sisters feeling powerless and wondering why he had been instructed to be here. It broke his heart and the vicious words being spoken all while there were truly people suffering who needed their help.

 

 _Step aside, Grayson._ A voice spoke within him. _Let me handle this._

 

 _What?_ He responded internally, confused at the instruction.

 

 _Look carefully at Alleria and her companions. See what the Shadow doesn't want anyone else here to see._ He was told.

 

Grayson then turned his eyes towards Alleria and studied her. The Light within him then enveloped his eyes and he _saw_. He saw the shadowy truth surrounding and speaking through the elven woman, and he saw that woman trapped and gagged.

 

The familiar voice intoned within him, _Step aside and surrender yourself to me. It's time I put an end to this charade. It's time to set Alleria free._

 

He knew the voice and its owner. It was the same being who had led him to come with the Horde Warchief to be there at that very moment. He looked deep within himself and called on the Light for peace to let the owner of that voice to take control as he will.

 

 _I surrender to you, my lord._ He responded. _Use me as you will._

 

And then Grayson found himself standing up from the table. It was his choice to stand up, it was his movements and his motions, but... it was also as though he were observing himself as a bystander. He observed a soft glowing golden radiance envelope him, his hands and his person. He heard words coming from his mouth as he addressed Alleria Windrunner, and saw those elves seated near her back away from him as though in pain.

 

“Enough!” The word exploded almost forcefully from his own lips. “Be silent, servant of the Void!”

 

Instant, Alleria's mouth went closed as if against her will. When she tried to open it, no sound would come out and she began sputtering and making angry, enraged faces at him that seemed almost demonic in nature but far, far more dangerous and maniacal than those demons he had fought against in the past.

 

“What is going on?” Vereesa demanded as she too stood up and looked between the man dressed as a Holy Priest and her oldest sister. “What are you doing?”

 

“It isn't your sister speaking, Vereesa.” He then responded, much to his own surprise, in fluent Thalassian. “It hasn't been for several years.”

 

Grayson then left his seat and deliberately moved around the table to where Alleria Windrunner had been seated. He felt his hands and arms lift to reach towards her as he did. Both of his hands glowed with radiant, holy white Light.

 

Alleria stumbled over her chair as she tried to escape from him, _NO!!_ She screamed silently, mouthing the words, _DON'T TOUCH ME!!!_ She backed herself up against a wall as Grayson approached her.

 

And then a deep, unnatural voice could be heard shouting, “NO!! SHE'S MINE!!” Though no one could say for certain who spoke it or where it had come from.

 

Around them, everyone else appeared frozen in shock at what was happening.

 

“Jeshua Lightborn releases you from this Void possession, dear one. Be free.” Grayson told her, and then placed the palm of his hand against the bare skin of her upper right arm.

 

And then all anyone heard was a deep, throaty scream as the Holy Light enveloped Alleria Windrunner banishing the Shadow which had possessed her for so long since her encounter with a Void god in the Seat of the Triumvirate on the shattered remains of Argus. That Shadow attempted to manifest and wrap itself even tighter around the elven woman, reinforcing its hold, but everywhere it tried to bring further into the Void, the purifying Light purged it, searing the shadow away from the woman, separating it and enveloping it in holy flames that carefully did not touch the Alleria's own flesh or soul.

 

Many of those other elves which had been with her then erupted into deep screams themselves as void shadows began to envelope their bodies in its darkness. “NO!!! You cannot stop us! The Void is eternal and all consuming!” They yelled as tendrils of darkness began to lash out towards Grayson. “It will destroy you all!”

 

As Alleria's form was wrapped in and purified by the Light. Grayson then turned and calmly looked towards the Void possessed elves which had revealed themselves. Once more he watched them as a mere observer, and the words which left his lips were not his own even as he said them willingly.

 

“Hold.” He spoke, his voice filled with authority and power, and the tendrils disappeared, the elves themselves freezing where they stood. And then his next words were, “Leave them at once and never return!”

 

Terror spread over the Void elves features as they twisted in rage and confusion. And then from each one of them an inky, shadowy darkness bled out and coalesced into a barely recognizable humanoid form of pure shadow. Those shadows found themselves fleeing desperately from the presence of the Holy Light that Grayson was manifesting. It was a presence in which no darkness could survive and they knew it. Within seconds, they were nowhere to be found as the elves which had harbored them collapsed unconscious on the floor.

 

“What just happened here?” Vereesa demanded to know, her own voice panicked.

 

Grayson then turned to see the rest of the delegates at the table on their feet and surrounding himself and those he had just exorcised. Many of them had weapons in their hands, and the Warchief was no exception, her bow nocked with an arrow, though it appeared she did not know who or what to aim it at. It was strange that he hadn't noticed them leave their seats or move in any way as the Light had led him to engage the darkness.

 

He then turned his attention back to Alleria who lay slumped against the back wall unconscious. Once more, he called on the Light's power, and with a single, gentle touch to her forehead, the Light flowed from his person and into the woman who then gasped as her sapphire blue eyes flew open and looked around in surprise and shock.

 

“Vereesa?” She asked, looking up towards her youngest sister who had still stood frozen next to where she had sat. Her voice was pained and emotional as tears ran down her cheeks. And then she turned her head to see her other sister across the room, surprise and familiarity written in her eyes. “Sylvanas, is that really you?”

 

Vereesa rushed to her sister's fallen side and held her hand as the woman exclaimed with tears, “It's been so dark for so long! I'm... I'm sorry... I didn't have any control over what I said or what I did... I didn't know what was real and what wasn't. I...”

 

And just then, tears erupted from the Warchief's own eyes as she dropped her weapons, her hands releasing them involuntarily, and hurried to join Vereesa by Alleria's side on the floor of the meeting hall.

 

Grayson got to his feet and backed away respectfully watching the scene.

 

“Alleria, I...” Sylvanas didn't know what to say as she gripped her oldest sister's hand.

 

“Oh, Sylvanas, Vereesa, I'm so, so sorry!” Alleria told them both as she sobbed. “I wanted to say something, I wanted to scream for help but I couldn't! The darkness had my body and my memories and all I could do was watch.”

 

And then Sylvanas, not knowing what else to do took her oldest sister in her arms and held her against her own shoulder as she sobbed. Within seconds she was joined in her embrace by Vereesa.

 

The last thing Grayson saw before he attempted to step away and afford the Windrunner family their privacy was Sylvanas turning her head to him and mouthing, “Thank you.” Her own eyes and cheeks streaked with tears.

 

Grayson nodded respectfully, and then overcome with his own emotions moved away from them and stood apart by himself trying to work through what had just happened there that day to and through him. Somehow, the Light had used him to give Sylvanas Windrunner back her estranged sisters, and it had exposed something much, much darker at work in Azeroth; something that was desperately trying to undo what Jeshua Lightborn had done for their world.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

 

In Stormwind City...

 

Marcus sat alone in the High Priest's private study that night, wrestling once more with the words of the _Tome of Divinity_. A large, gilded edition of the great work sat open in front of him. The desk he sat at was larger and more ornate than that in his apartment's study. It had been commissioned as a gift to the Stormwind Cathedral by a noble family when the church had been rebuilt after the second war. The chair as well was sturdier, the padding more comfortable, and less likely to cause the pain in his back which his own had caused as of late.

 

But the sacred text offered him no comfort as he read and studied. The comfortable chair remained a reminder that he could not call on the Light to ease the pain his own caused.

 

 _So much has happened._ He thought. _So many compromises have had to be made. Where is the Light in all of this darkness? Why does it not answer or reveal itself to its faithful?_

 

It grieved him that the Holy Light would still not respond to his supplication, and especially since being elected High Priest by his fellow clergy it was something he had to address. He felt strangely fortunate up to that point that he had not been challenged, or forced to display his own command of the Light since that ascension. In this, he was not _yet_ alone within the Cathedral's clergy, but he was growing increasingly isolated as more and more of his subordinates chose to embrace the powers of the Void, if only briefly in order to heal. Like Laurena, he had not forbidden them under these extreme circumstances, but he had not embraced them himself either.

 

It was something that he had sworn to himself and to the Light that he would never do. He would not go down that dark road no matter who else might, and no matter what further tragedy would befall them. He refused to succumb to the temptation of the Void's power, even if the Light had abandoned him.

 

 _I am better than that._ He told himself. _I must be better than that. I must uphold sacred tradition even if no one else will. That is my role. The faith of the Church of Light must be defended._

 

There had been no weekly service of devotion to the Light the day before. How could there be? The whole Cathedral... No, the whole city was still reeling from the deaths and bloodshed. They were still in the process of investigating what happened and cleaning up from the slaughter. He was still trying to determine how to re-consecrate the church after the defilement on its floors and within its walls which had occurred. How does one use the Light to consecrate when the Light will not respond?

 

The recent massacre in the Cathedral's own sacred sanctuary had appalled and horrified him. Good priests and patrolmen had been slain by some unknown, dark force, their bodies torn and ripped apart as though by a monster. Lord Greymane, a man he had hoped would serve as regent in Anduin's stead had been found horribly murdered, drained of life and stabbed in the back. Pools of blood stained the marble and stone floors from wall to wall. King Anduin had been seen entering with them as well, but no trace of him had been discovered when the scene had been stumbled upon by one of Marcus' own. Without the Light's gift of resurrection, there had been nothing anyone could have done for any of the victims of what looked to be a senseless slaughter. The Council of Nobles had taken emergency oversight of the Kingdom of Stormwind with the king missing and no heir of the young man's to take his place. Marcus imagined that they had already sent out missives to the other Alliance leaders informing them of the situation and who they believed to be responsible.

 

The fragment of a white tabard had been found clenched in one of the patrolmen's hands. Most of it had been ripped away, but there had still been enough there to identify the crest upon it. It was a design he had never seen before, but someone else had identified it as the new symbol of the Forsaken. It had been meant to show the world their allegiance to the necromancer Jeshua in some twisted mockery of the Argent Crusade's own flag, the holy order of Paladins that controlled large swaths of the Plaguelands. Priests from the Cathedral had been given leave by him to patrol with Stormwind's own guards to watch for and identify anyone showing any sympathy or collusion with Jeshua's followers.

 

As he understood it, several arrests of those traitors to the Alliance had been made. People he never would have thought could be so deceived had been taken to Stormwind's stockade when they wouldn't denounce the fraudulent charlatan. He had been told SI:7 was handling their cases. The clergyman didn't want to know the details after that. The news which was brought him just kept getting darker and darker, and his heart could barely take any more.

 

 _Jeshua_. He kept coming back to that singular young man. _All of these troubles began with him and his heresies and illusions._

 

Marcus had heard nothing from either Lord Shadowbreaker or his squad of Paladins which he took north to fight against Jeshua's evil directly. Not one word. No one had heard from any of them for a week. Marcus did not know what that portended. Were they dead? Had they been captured? He could not conceive of a situation which would have seen them turn traitor against the Light or Stormwind. He felt he knew Lord Shadowbreaker and the other Paladins too well for that, but their silence was indeed deafening to him, and he wondered frequently at their fate.

 

 _Did I send those good men and women to die?_ The thought haunted him, as he keenly felt the weight of his responsibility for them. They had all seen combat, they all knew what being a knight and a Paladin meant and what it could mean. Still, he had no desire to add their deaths to the list of tragedies.

 

 _Knock! Knock!_ The rapping came from the study's door.

 

“Enter!” Marcus called out as he rubbed his eyes from the strain of the reading he had been doing. He then unexpectedly yawned.

 

 _How late has it gotten?_ He wondered just then, realizing how tired he felt as he lifted his head to greet the newcomer. The oil lanterns hanging along the walls of his office still glowed as he looked around to them with bleary eyes, but he could tell the candles had burned down significantly even with his own increasingly poor eyesight which was the inevitable curse of all bookish men.

 

The heavy wooden door creaked open. A balding, bearded man Marcus recognized, robed in midnight blue, entered slowly and deliberately, a respectful, inquiring expression on his face, if not a humble one. The man's eyes were intelligent, a certain calculating cunning in them which he could not read. An ornate black dagger was sheathed at his belt. Everything about the man unsettled him whether he was a fellow cleric or not.

 

Marcus did not want to know to what uses that dagger had been put as he recognized the man from Laurena's funeral. He hadn't known that he had remained in Stormwind this long after that day. The question which immediately formed in his mind was, _Why are you still here?_

 

“High Priest. I had hoped to find you still awake at this hour.” The Shadow Priest told him as he entered and carefully closed the door so that when it shut, it barely made a sound.

 

“Yes, I have been studying, trying to find some light in all of this darkness that has engulfed us.” Marcus responded politely as he eyed the man who came to stand in front of him. The man's posture made him somewhat nervous and he gestured for the man to take a seat in a chair across the desk from him. The man nodded politely and accepted the gesture.

 

“The darkness is something to be understood and respected, but never feared. We study the darkness to understand the Light as well. In order to understand the nature of the Light, one must understand its absence as well.” The Shadow Priest replied. “It is the balance between the Light and the Void that created the universe, and not either one alone. The Void is no more inherently evil than the Light is inherently good, but rather it is the character of the person wielding it that determines this.”

 

The Shadow Priest's words were doctrinally sound, as Marcus well knew. It was the reason why the Shadow disciplines weren't expressly forbidden, though discouraged for the danger they presented to a Priest's mind and soul. Still, though, the idea of the Void as being anything _other_ than dangerous and harmful did not sit well with the High Priest.

 

“I never did learn your name.” Marcus said to him then, realizing his oversight.

 

“Sarvis.” The dark cleric responded.

 

“Sarvis...?” Marcus then drew it out as a question wondering if that was his given name or his family name. Either way he had not heard it before.

 

“Just Sarvis.” The Shadow Priest replied, and then added. “I suppose within my denomination I hold an equivalent rank to a bishop from yours.”

 

Surprised at this revelation, Marcus then sat back reassessing the fact that this man could have very well been considered his equal and a peer if not for their differences in philosophies. But then, he considered, their theologies were not so dissimilar as he had believed, but emphasized different aspects.

 

“Bishop Sarvis, then.” Marcus then addressed him.

 

Sarvis then dismissed his use of the title with a gesture. “My title isn't so important as my work, High Priest. That is why I have come to see you tonight.”

 

“Oh? And what would your work have to do with me?” Marcus then asked.

 

“Tonight, I wanted to come to you as a concerned brother Priest and ask how long you can continue this charade.” Sarvis asked him, his tone and expression sincere and even truly concerned for him.

 

“Charade? I don't know what you mean.” Marcus replied, though there was a hesitancy and a fear in his voice precisely because he _did_ know what the man meant. In truth, he had wondered how long it would take before one of his subordinates had come to him addressing the inconsistency of a High Priest with no command of the Light.

 

“Please, brother. You can be honest with me. The Shadow appreciates honesty more than you may think. It shows us uncomfortable truths and possibilities and lays them bare for the whole world to see.” The Shadow Priest replied. “The Light has abandoned you, Marcus. How long until you see that?”

 

The High Priest felt as though he had been slapped, but it had been an honest slap painful though it was. “I... I am aware of this. It has abandoned all of our Priests here, and I have heard a rumor that the affliction has even spread to the Priestesses of Elune in Darnassus, though I have not confirmed it.” He admitted. “I am constantly searching for the remedy. It was even the focus of my study tonight.”

 

A gleam appeared in Sarvis' eyes as he then asked, “Do you even know why this happened to you and your priesthood? How can you know how to cure something when you don't even know the cause? What has the Conclave said about it?”

 

“I...” He didn't like being interrogated like this, but as he was forced to confront it the confession felt somewhat liberating. “I have not visited Netherlight Temple in some time since the end of the war. I have a strong disagreement with his holiness's political views in permitting the Forsaken and others of the Horde an equal place among us.” He then asked, “What about you? Have you visited Netherlight? Do they know what is happening?”

 

“Oh yes. They are well informed of this issue and the cause of it.” Sarvis responded, the gleam in his eye never leaving but appearing to change as though a madman just waiting to thrust a knife. “The Naaru there has not been shy about telling them.”

 

“And?” Marcus then asked, a tinge of desperation in his voice, wondering why Laurena had not informed him of this before her death, unless she herself hadn't known. “Tell me please.”

 

“You're not going to like what I have to say.” The Shadow Priest then told him, overtly toying with him. “Are you sure you want to hear it?” It sounded as though a maniacal laugh just waited on the edge of his voice, desperate to come out when the punchline to his joke was revealed.

 

Marcus was taken aback by the sudden change in Sarvis' demeanor. He had not known many Shadow Priests, but knew that dabbling with the Void could addle one's mind and drive them further into madness. It was the reason he would never walk that road. Still, if there was any chance the man could shed light on the church's loss of the Light, he would hear it.

 

“Tell me.” Marcus told him again, his tone just a little harder against the man. “Please.”

 

“Jeshua.” Sarvis then told him, maddening laughter quietly dancing in his eyes. “He is the reason why the Light has spurned you.”

 

“This I knew.” Marcus then sat back, sighing. Of course Jeshua had been behind it somehow, he just didn't know how, or how to counteract it. He then said as much adding, “You don't reveal any great mystery to me. Has the Naaru there explained how the charlatan managed to accomplish this? Is there a solution?”

 

And then the Shadow Priest cackled out loud, unable to contain himself. It was an unnerving laugh, and wholly inappropriate to the seriousness of their discussion. “Your grace, please. I see nothing amusing about any of this.”

 

“Oh, but I do.” Sarvis then told him, still laughing and barely attempting to control it. “You claim allegiance to the Holy Light and then did not recognize it when it stood in front of you! I don't know what could be more amusing!”

 

A cold sinking feeling developed in Marcus' stomach and wouldn't leave. “What do you mean? End this riddle and speak plainly!”

 

“If you don't have the eyes to see what's right in front of you, there's no way I could show it to you. What's even more comically tragic is that you've got it all backwards and don't know which end is up. You've already embraced the will of the Void and won't bring yourself to admit it. You've already been serving the Shadow so faithfully, why won't you just open your eyes and accept it?” Sarvis used his index finger to wipe tears from his eyes from his laughter, his tone of voice switching to one of a man trying to make a friend see reason.

 

Marcus found nothing amusing about his words though. Unwillingly they burrowed like a worm into his mind as he struggled to put the pieces to Sarvis' riddle together, but they just wouldn't fit. He had never succumbed to the Void, had deliberately avoided the use of its disciplines and abilities. He had remained faithful to the Light in spite of its rejection of him.

 

“I have no idea what you're talking about, and I think this conversation is over.” Marcus then declared, standing up from his desk. “I will never be a servant of the Void.”

 

The High Priest then made to walk towards the door of the study to open it and gesture for the man to leave.

 

Sarvis too stood up, but made no attempt to move from his position. Instead, his eyes were closed and he appeared to be concentrating on something.

 

“What...?” Marcus began to ask.

 

And then he heard the Shadow Priest intone in an unnatural voice, “Take my dagger from my belt and be silent.”

 

Instantly, Marcus found himself unable to control his own limbs and muscles. He watched, his mind hazy and terrified as he walked over to where the Shadow Priest stood and silently drew the obsidian dagger from its sheath on Sarvis' belt. It was darkly beautiful in craftsmanship and design. Wicked in its sharpness and fang like curved blade, and obviously meant for only one purpose.

 

Marcus couldn't protest, couldn't cry out, and couldn't regain control of his own body.

 

“Now, walk back to your chair and sit down.” Sarvis intoned again, and Marcus' body obeyed even as Marcus himself struggled futilely against his commands, mad laughter echoing within the confines of his own mind.

 

“If you will not serve the Void willingly, then your usefulness is at an end.” The Shadow Priest declared. “Stab yourself between your ribs and into your heart.” He finally intoned.

 

Marcus' own hands thrusted the blade into his chest hard and blood rushed out, staining and soaking his robes in crimson as his head slumped and hit the surface of the desk hard, cushioned only by the pages of the book he had been reading. A twisted look of terror and pain had been permanently etched on his face.

 

Sarvis waited until the blood flow subsided a bit and then carefully reached around and pulled his dagger free from the man's chest, cleaning it against the High Priest's own robes before replacing it into its sheath. The cuffs of his robes and his silken gloves became stained with Marcus' blood, but the Shadow Priest paid it no mind. It would not be the first time, and there were ways of removing the stains which could be purchased in the Mage's District the following day. No one would question why one of his order might want such a compound.

 

He studied the corpse for a few more minutes, contemplating what must happen next. He had maintained some hope for the man, and that he might see reason. _But that's what insisting on being “righteous” will get you I suppose. Poor fool._

 

“Still have your nose stuck in that dusty old book, eh? Pity, what a waste of good resources. We could have gotten along quite well, I think. Oh well. I'll let myself out if you don't mind.” Sarvis then told the dead body, and quietly left the chamber, opening and closing the door without a sound.

 

The next morning, Stormwind City would awaken to yet more tragic news. The High Priest, and two other revered brothers had all inexplicably committed suicide in the wee hours of the night in their private rooms. It would be another day of mourning and grief, and another day where the Shadow tightened its grip upon the city.

 

Sarvis smiled malevolently at the thought.

 

* * *

 

At the docks of Rut'theran village on the coast of Teldrassil...

 

The voyage from Stormwind had taken less time than Jacob remembered. The sailing had been smooth and the weather calm. Their ship, _Azshara's Bane_ , had been given a tail wind the entire journey and they had arrived in the elven port on the literal other side of the world in half the time he remembered it taking two decades before, and this even with the extra stop made to drop off cargo and pick up passengers at Menethil Harbor up the coastline from Stormwind.

 

Surprisingly, his wife Martha had enjoyed the seafaring trip much more than he had expected her to. The Kaldorei crew had been very polite to the aged human woman whom many commented on how young she truly was considering they measured their own ages in terms of centuries and millennia. Martha had positively beamed at being described as one of the youngest people on board the ship during that voyage.

 

She had also made something of a friend in a bubbly “young” Night Elf sentinel, Elyssa Moonblade, who had been stationed as a kind of marine guard on board the ship. During the voyage, the Kaldorei woman with long, bright green hair tied back in a thick rope braid would often talk to Martha about her homeland in Kalimdor and the town of her birth, Nighthaven, in the protected Moonglade which had been the Night Elves capital for centuries until the third war. Martha had especially appeared to enjoy her comical stories about the animals she had known personally.

 

It had taken some of the burden off of Jacob's heart to know that his wife had found Elyssa on that ship. The truth was he hadn't known whether or not he was taking his wife out of the frying pan only to thrust them both into the fire by leaving Stormwind. He had hoped Daloren would still remember him, and given Elyssa's stirling memory in spite of being several millennia old, was almost certain twenty years would have been nothing to the Night Elf woodworker. But still, he and his wife would just be showing up on the man's doorstep, imposing on the hospitality of the dark azure skinned man for... for who knew how long?

 

He had somewhat put off thinking about it more up until the ship docked at Rut'theran Village. While his wife had been talking with Elyssa, Jacob had been engaging in good natured games of Hearthstone with some of the crew and other passengers. In so doing, he came to realize the magical card game really was more of a human and dwarven pastime than it was one for the Night Elves who saw it as an intriguing curiosity and fad among the younger races. He had done well with both sides placing small wagers on the outcomes of each match, almost doubling the gold he had boarded the ship with.

 

Now that he stood on the docks with his wife, he was forced to confront the reality of their situation. He didn't actually doubt Daloren would welcome Martha and he into his home for a time. It was the length of their stay which he didn't know. He had hoped to gather news from Stormwind while in Darnassus during that stay in order to determine if it would be safe for them to return. But if weeks or months went by and things stayed the same or got worse, what then?

 

“Jacob, are you alright?” Martha asked him after a minute, pulling him out of his thoughts.

 

“What? Oh, yes, I'm fine, Martha. Why? Don't I look it?” He responded as he looked at her.

 

“Well I've been talking to you for the past five minutes and you haven't said one word in reply.” His wife told him. “You haven't heard a word I said, have you?”

 

Jacob blinked his eyes blankly as he looked at his wife. He tried desperately to recover what she had been saying to him, any of it that might have entered his ears, but to no avail. Finally, he settled on an apology and the truth.

 

“I'm sorry, Martha.” He told her. “I've just been letting things get to me. It's been a long time since I've been here too.”

 

Martha's expression softened a little. “Well, I was just talking about the tree. The sight of it just about takes my breath away. You said the Night Elves made their city at the top of a great tree, but never in my wildest dreams had I ever imagined this.”

 

She then gestured to the scene in front of her and Jacob's eyes had followed her fingers. To call Teldrassil a “tree” was like calling Stormwind a quiet little village. It was indescribably majestic. The great roots of the tree, were wider around than any house he had ever seen, digging deep into the island in which it had been planted and plunging beneath the waters of the sea around it. The great trunk of Teldrassil encompassed _miles_ in diameter, elven structures and housing built and magically grown into its base. That trunk reached for the heavens as it expanded into the sky and erupted into a network of thick branches and leaves which cast a cool shade around the base of the island keeping it in a perpetual twilight. It was awesome and beautiful to behold.

 

Jacob smiled at his wife's reaction. In truth, his had not been so different the first time he had seen the great tree home of the Kaldorei, grown as a refuge for their people after the third war. And then he smiled again as he told her, “Just wait until you see what's at the top. Darnassus is something special. There's a whole 'nother world up in those branches a lot of outsiders don't get to see.”

 

“But I thought...” She had been looking at the trunk of the tree with its many structures woven in. “Darnassus is up there?” She questioned, her gaze wandering high above her child-like in awe. “A whole city up in the branches of a tree?”

 

“It's not just Darnassus, Martha. There are whole lakes, villages, towns, and I've even heard of another great tree called Aldrassil up there protected and hidden in its branches.”

 

“Will we get to see them?” She asked hopefully.

 

“I don't know. Last time Joseph and I didn't go too far from the city, and we weren't encouraged to either.” He responded, somewhat amused by his wife's sudden interest in the exotic and different. “Maybe we can ask Daloren if it's possible. The Night Elves are friendly, but they can be pretty insular and keep to themselves as well.”

 

Jacob then noticed a lavender skinned Night Elf man with short, forest green beard and mustache and shoulder length hair not far from them standing on the docks. Like most of his people, he stood a full head taller than the older looking human. He would not have stood out there among most of the others on the docks except he was wearing plain brown linen robes and clothes of human make, and his feet were bare. The old carpenter hadn't seen him aboard the ship, but he supposed it might have been possible for them to miss each other. He too appeared to be gazing up at the great tree, his eyes searching and somewhat haunted.

 

He then felt the urge to talk to the man who looked somewhat lost among his own people. “Hello, friend.” He greeted him.

 

“Greetings.” The Night Elf then turned and greeted the man, a friendly smile on his lips revealing his sharp, elven eyeteeth. “How do you do this fine day?” He asked politely using a human expression, if somewhat awkwardly.

 

“My name's Jacob. Jacob Davidson. That lovely young woman there is my wife Martha.” The carpenter told him, briefly gesturing towards his wife who then moved closer to his side as he tried to make friendly conversation. The Night Elf nodded towards the woman politely.

 

“It's a wonder isn't it? I saw Teldrassil twenty years ago, and it's still hard to wrap my mind around.” The human gestured toward the trunk of the great tree.

 

Jacob then realized how awkward he had sounded in talking to the man who must be at least ten times older than he, if not a hundred.

 

But if the Night Elf had been offended, he didn't show it. Instead, he smiled once more and replied, “Yes, it certainly is. It has been a long time since I too have looked upon it. It is truly majestic, though Nor'drassil was much more so before the third war. It reached so high into the sky that you could not reach the top most branches without losing the ability to breath.”

 

A hint of melancholy entered the man's voice as he once again turned his gaze towards its branches, making no attempt to move from the docks. “It has been a long, long time since I have been home. I never thought I would be able to return to be honest, and now that I am here... But forgive me, I am called Syloren.”

 

Jacob's heart went out to the man. He couldn't imagine what kinds of things might have haunted behind the Night Elf's eyes. Being a tradesman and not very good with any kind of a weapon, he had never gone to war, but he had known plenty of men and women who had. Syloren's eyes had that same look, but something more as well. There was a kind of peace mixed into it that had been missing from many of those Stormwind soldiers that had come home.

 

“To where are you traveling in Teldrassil, Jacob Davidson?” Syloren then asked him. “Perhaps we could travel together as fellow sojourners. I could use a friendly face to talk to along the way to be honest.”

 

“Well, we were planning on visiting an old friend of mine in Darnassus for a while. After that, well...” Jacob told him honestly.

 

“I had intended to go as far as Dolonaar.” Syloren then told him, his expression somewhat disappointed. “I had hoped to see if my brother still resided there before I continued on with my work.”

 

“You know,” the wheels in Jacob's mind began to turn as he called to mind his recent conversation with his wife, “it's not set in stone that we have to visit my friend first. It was kind of a last minute vacation. The truth is he doesn't know we're coming anyway and Martha had hoped we'd be able to see the interior outside of Darnassus.”

 

Syloren then smiled again broadly. “I would welcome the company friend. In truth, I have spent more time among humans than my own kind these last two months. I would be honored if you and your wife would accompany me. The Light, it seems, has blessed both of us in unexpected ways today.”

 

The three of them then began walking towards a large gazebo at the end of a road at the base of the great tree. A rose colored light danced in and around it. Near it were several nests of Hippogryphs and a Night Elf dressed in dark feathers and leather tending to them.

 

“So what work do you do, Syloren?” Jacob asked since the man had mentioned it.

 

“I have come home to teach the ways of my shan'do.” Syloren replied.

 

 _Shan'do_. Jacob knew the Darnassian word, and had heard it many times. It referred to one who was considered an honored teacher among the Night Elves. More often than not, when one referred to _the shan'do_ , they were referring to the co-ruler of their people, the High Archdruid Malfurion Stormrage. But it could also refer to someone much less known, but well respected for their mastery of their discipline.

 

“Oh?” Jacob asked, curious as to whom Syloren was referring. “And who is your honored teacher?” He asked, no irony in his use of the term.

 

“Jeshua Lightborn.” Syloren answered, his tone reverent. “The man who freed me from the demon's blood and gave me back my life.”

 

Jacob and Martha then stopped in their tracks when they heard their grandson's name used. “I'm sorry, friend. Did you say _Jeshua_ was your shan'do?”

 

“He was and remains so.” Syloren responded. “For many, many decades I was possessed of the demon blood in order to hunt down and destroy the Burning Legion wherever they might be found. It had finally consumed me and taken over when the shan'do found me and purged me of it, showing me the true power of the Light and the path the Holy Light wants of each of us.”

 

“You knew our grandson?” Martha then asked, surprise and emotion filling her expression. “You knew Jeshua?”

 

“You are his grandsires?” Then it became Syloren's turn to be surprised.

 

“I helped change that sweet little boy's diapers when he was still nursing.” Martha told him, a grandmother's look in her eyes. “It tore me apart when he left home, even more so with all the nasty things being said about him. I just can't believe any of it was true.”

 

Syloren's expression became one of compassion as he looked on the woman. “Then let us travel together, you and I, and I will tell you of the great human shan'do of the Light whom I know. I believe it will set your mind at ease as to what kind of a man the child you knew became.”

 

“I would like that, sir. I would like that a lot.” Martha replied, her eyes misting over.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

 

_In the Dream..._

 

_Amerian stood alone in a cool forest. Around the Night Elf scribe bright bluish green foliage flourished at the base of great, ancient trees that whispered in light breezes, and soft loamy earth could be felt by his bare lavender colored toes and soles. Through gaps in the trees he could see the starry night sky above him, the soft white light of Elune bathing the woods in her gentle, motherly radiance. The scents of fragrant grasses and flora overwhelmed him just as the vibrancy of the living nature around him comforted his Kaldorei heart. In the distance he could see a great lake upon which the silvery light reflected settled at the base of cliffs._

 

“ _Where am I?” He wondered at the pristine world around him as he turned around and around to get his bearings. His surroundings reminded him of a place near his original home of Nighthaven in the Moonglade, but there was no town upon the cliffs that he could see, nor any evidence of elven habitation or civilization._

 

_Try as he might, he could not remember how he might have gotten to this place. Was it a vision or a dream? If it was, the sights, sounds, and smells of it assaulted his senses in a way that even the waking world had never done._

 

_As he watched, the silver moonlight around him began to coalesce and take shape in front of him into something tangible. It twisted and wove itself into the tall form of a translucent elven woman composed of the moonlight. And she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, so much so that his heart ached, though not in a romantic way as he might have thought it would have. Instead, as he looked upon her, he felt a maternal aching as though looking upon a royal mother whom he had never truly known. The Kaldorei woman's features were flawless, as was the moon crested diadem which rested upon her brow. Her translucent, white dress was similar to one that a priestess might wear. On her lips and etched in her eyes was a weary, genuine smile. In her right hand was held a sharp scythe decorated with runes and glowing with the same silvery moonlight with which she was made._

 

“ _Greetings, Amerian.” The woman spoke gently as though a mother to her dearest child. “Welcome.”_

 

_And then Amerian dropped to his knee in reverence, his right hand over his heart, as his mind grasped who the matronly form was in front of him._

 

“ _Mother Elune.” He addressed her, his voice filled with awe and affection for his people's matron goddess._

 

“ _Rise, child. I am only a servant of the Light as are you.” Elune responded, taking one hand, placing it on his arm and gently guiding him to his feet. “There is much you must know as the time grows short. There is much you must explain to Azeroth's other children about their mother.”_

 

“ _I... I confess I don't understand. I believed that you were our mother.” Amerian told her somewhat sheepishly._

 

“ _Me? No, child. I am only a caretaker. I was one of the first of the Light's creations tasked with a single, special purpose. I was given a special soul to watch over, a world soul. I was to protect her and all of her children and nurture her as best I could until she was mature enough and strong enough to fulfill her purpose in the Light's will.” Elune responded. “I watched over her for millennia as she slept in peace, growing like a babe in a womb just waiting to be born.”_

 

_Amerian considered this, and then asked, “Where are we, if I may ask?”_

 

“ _This is her dream. Your people have referred to it as the_ Emerald Dream _, the vision she has while she sleeps.” Elune replied. “It is the vision of a world uncorrupted by the Void or its agents and unsullied by 'civilization.' It is the purpose for which she was made.”_

 

“ _I don't understand, holy one. I am not worthy of your presence, much less this revelation. Why show me this?” Amerian asked._

 

“ _When the Titans discovered Azeroth, they believed she could be used as an ultimate weapon against the Void gods. But by that point, she had already become infected by the parasites your people call “old gods”, agents of the Void sent to weaken her and keep her from maturing. In that, I failed in my duties and was thankful when they came and drove back the infestation. My powers only extend so far, and it is my purpose to heal and nurture life, not destroy it. But that was not the Void's only attempt at harming her, was it?” Elune told him, seemingly either ignoring his question or answering it with a much longer explanation than he expected._

 

“ _No. There have been many attacks. The last one by Sargeras nearly killed her, or so I am led to believe by those more knowledgeable about such things than I.” Amerian answered his goddess._

 

“ _Indeed it did. And then the Holy Light's own plan of salvation for Azeroth and her children came to maturity. It was a plan that neither I nor the Titans, nor even the Void itself understood or foresaw.” Elune told him._

 

“ _Shan'do Jeshua and the New Dawn.” Amerian then said, understanding to what she was referring. “His death healed Azeroth herself and destroyed the sword driven into her side.”_

 

_The goddess nodded approvingly like a mother delighted her child was paying attention._

 

“ _And now you must write down what I am about to tell you, Amerian, because this comes from the Holy Light, eternal, unquenchable, which was, and is, and will always be. Something beautiful is about to happen. My vigil is at an end. My beloved charge has reached full maturity. The Light is coming for its bride and all the forces of the Void cannot stand against it. The marriage will happen, and when it does the Void will be no more. The dream will become reality. All of the Light's creation will be made fresh and new and all will be set to right.” Elune told him, growing more passionate as she spoke, her silvery light growing brighter and brighter. “The children of Azeroth must be warned. They must accept Jeshua's pact if they would continue. The husband seeks to make the bride's children his own. It is the only way they will be rescued from what is coming.”_

 

“ _What will happen, Mother Elune? What is going to happen to Azeroth?” Amerian asked, feeling more shaken as she spoke._

 

“ _The sleeper will awaken.” She told him. “Azeroth awakens to meet her husband.”_

 

In Lordaeron City...

 

Amerian awoke with a start in the darkness of the cloister apartment given for his use by Sylvanas Windrunner. His skin was streaked with sweat as his eyes flew open, startled and looking around his bed chamber. Through an open window, silvery moonlight had gently flowed in, illuminating the room and bathing it in its kindly radiance. His heart was pounding, and filled with a mixture of both joy and terror as he recalled the message and images he had been given.

 

The details of his dream were vivid and real, and he took the goddess's words to heart as he swung his bare legs over the side of the bed and placed his bare feet on the floor. His Kaldorei eyesight, naturally adapted to the gentle moonlight, found his writing desk across the small room, and the inkwell and light parchment still on it. He stood up from his bed, his legs somewhat unsteady from the adrenaline coursing through his veins and having just woken up, and made his way to the desk. Sitting down, he began to write down everything from the vision he could still remember, embellishing nothing. He would write it exactly as it had been shown him, especially the goddess's final and most important message to Azeroth's children. She had explicitly wanted him to send that message to all of his world's peoples before it became too late.

 

“Azeroth is waking...” He said to himself as all of the implications overwhelmed his sleep fogged mind.

 

* * *

 

The next morning...

 

Grayson Shadowbreaker sat in a pew, hands folded and head bowed in front of the altar in Lordaeron's Cathedral. He had returned to the city alone the previous day, himself still shaken by the events which had occurred in Tranquillien which had seen the Void purged from Alleria Windrunner and her followers, and seen Lordaeron's queen reunited with her sisters as family once more.

 

Sylvanas Windrunner had remained in Quel'Thalas with her sisters alongside the Blood Knight Matriarch, Lady Liadrin and the Regent Lord of Silvermoon, Lor'themar Theron. There had still been much which needed to be discussed about the future of the Quel'dorei, and that discussion would still not be easy, but Vereesa and the other High Elves had been more willing to listen to reason and to discuss what was truly best for their people moving forward upon the revelation of the Void possessions. At least it had sounded to him like there would be no further attacks upon relief ships from Orgrimmar, and it felt as though his part to play there had been finished for the moment. He was not needed to deliver Jeshua's message any further. Sylvanas Windrunner was both an eyewitness of Jeshua's death and resurrection, and free with relating those events which she had seen and heard. Hers was a more powerful voice to tell that story than Grayson's own. The Quel'dorei would have no doubt as to who they had to thank for lives given back to them. Of this the Paladin had no doubts.

 

He had replayed the event in Tranquillien in his mind many times, and after it had spent much time in contemplation and prayer trying to understand what had occurred. He knew he had been conscious and in control of his actions as they were taken, and yet those actions and words were not his and had not originated from him. It was as if he had surrendered control of himself, only to be taken by the hand and allowed to participate willingly regardless in a kind of cooperation. It was like no experience with the Holy Light that he had ever had, but much more personal and intimate.

 

The power and authority he had felt had been beyond... just _beyond_ as though the Shadow had no choice but to submit to the Light's command, but it had not belonged to Grayson at all.

 

“You look haunted, friend.” A familiar voice spoke to him knowingly from the end of the pew. “Like you've seen something you didn't expect to happen.”

 

Grayson looked up and turned his head to see the older emissary, Jim Jacobson, standing not far from him. The man gestured towards the seat next to him and asked, “May I?”

 

Grayson nodded wearily, sitting back in the pew and letting out a sigh. He hadn't slept since returning to the city. As he thought about it, how long had it been since he had slept? In truth, he couldn't remember. So much had happened to him he had lost track.

 

“I know the look in your eyes pretty well. The first time I really caught a glimpse of who the Captain is was durin' a bad squall at Menethil Harbor.” Jim told him. “I was just sure the whole town was goin' t' be washed away by the storm, and here's this wet behind the ears landlubber kid who gets up and goes outside like it's nothin'. I run after him thinkin' he's out of his mind and I gotta pull him back inside. The next thing I knew, he's yellin' at the storm, 'shut up and go home!' like a mad man.”

 

Jim chuckled at the memory. Grayson smiled at the old sailor's account.

 

“Imagine my surprise when the storm did just that, tuckin' its tail and runnin' like a dog just scolded by its master. It was the damnedest thing I'd ever seen in my whole life, and I'd seen a few shamans who knew their stuff. I knew then he wasn't no ordinary Priest or teacher. After that, I sold everythin' I had and went with him, and then I found out what I saw then was nothin' compared to what he could really do, and what he gave us the power to do.”

 

Grayson was quiet as he listened to the man's story.

 

“You look like you've seen some of the same.” Jim said.

 

“I don't understand what happened. I'm not one of you. I'm not an emissary. I've wielded the Light in battle before. I've healed, I've... judged with the Light, but this was different. I felt Jeshua take control of me and drive the Void itself from people just like the storm you just described. I'm not...” Grayson tried to explain.

 

“Worthy?” Jim finished his sentence for him. He laughed at the word. “Hell, son. None of us are. I sure ain't. I wasn't never a religious man my whole life. Spent my whole life at sea movin' from ship to ship and port to port, and most of the time from bottle to bottle to boot. Never tried to be a bad man, but I wasn't a good one neither. Never did learn my letters past being able to read a chart at sea, much less the big holy books the Priests and Paladins use. Hardly ever set foot in a church, and never really wanted to. But the Captain didn't care about that. He said he needed help to finish what he started and wanted us to go with him. That was all. I sure as hell wasn't worthy when he told me to watch out for the others before he left like some kind of overseer or leader. It's not about bein' worthy. It's all about what Jeshua wanted. It's all about the healin' he brings, tryin' to set things right that got all screwed up. You know Thaddeus 'n Mathaius?”

 

Grayson shook his head. “I haven't met them, no.”

 

“Two of Jeshua's emissaries besides me. You know what they were before they met the Captain?” Jim asked him.

 

Grayson shook his head again.

 

“Undead assassins. I don't know how many people they killed in cold blood, and I don't want to. The Captain healed them all the same and called them to follow him same as me. Two of the most devoted men I have ever met now.” Jim told the Paladin. “Old Syloren? He was a Demon Hunter that went nuts and hurt a bunch of Night Elves. To hear Vasuuvata tell it, it was a horror show. Those women were dying in their own blood when Jeshua got to them. Jeshua drove the demon blood out of him and made him a whole new elf. One of the best friends I ever had. The Captain made him an emissary too. He went back home a little while ago to try and bring Jeshua's message to his own people. It's only because of Jeshua that he could go home in the first place. Everybody on Azeroth knows about Sylvanas and the kinds o' things she's done, things that'd give even the strongest man nightmares, but she was the first one he appeared to after resurrectin' himself, and he told her as far as the Light was concerned she was completely forgiven for it all. There ain't none of us that're worthy of anything the Captain's done for us or through us. It's only 'cause he wanted to give it that we've got it.”

 

The Paladin thought deeply on the sailor's words as he spoke. His plain spoken salty language struck him deeply as honest and heartfelt. It was so different from the pleasantries and smiling falsehoods which one frequently encountered among the nobility and even within the church itself.

 

“Lady Liadrin introduced me to Lor'themar Theron as one of you. I'm sorry, it wasn't my idea.” Grayson told him. It had truly bothered him ever since she had said those words.

 

“Don't be.” Jim told him, putting his hand on the man's shoulder. “It sounds like the Captain backed it up pretty powerful-like. You _are_ one of us, son. If it's good enough for the Captain to use you like that, it's good enough for me.”

 

They sat together then for a while in silence.

 

“Jim!” A Kaldorei man came into the sanctuary calling out the old sailor's name. There was an urgency in his expression, and a kind of fear. Several sheets of parchment were in his right hand, writing scrawled on all of them.

 

Jim then stood up from where he sat and replied, “What's goin' on, Amerian. You look like you've seen a ghost. Pretty sure there ain't any more o' those here like there used to be. What happened?”

 

“Here, you need to read this!” Amerian thrust the papers at him. “A vision came to me last night. We need to tell the others!”

 

“Wait, slow down, brother.” Jim told him, holding up his hands and gesturing. “You know I couldn't read it if I wanted to, not that fast anyways. What's it say?”

 

“Something is about to happen. Something both wonderful and terrible.” Amerian told him. “We need to call the others and tell them. Jeshua's message, his pact, has to go to the entire world.”

 

“Yeah, I knew that. He told us so. I was there when he said it. We're working on it. We'll get there eventually. It's a big world you know.” Jim replied with a friendly if somewhat confused smile. “Andrew and Syloren have already gone off, and Peter and Vasuuvata have been talking about headin' out here soon too. It's gonna get pretty lonely 'round here.”

 

“No. You don't understand. We have to go now. All of us. We can't wait any longer for things to happen slowly. They all need to hear now, as soon as possible and take Jeshua's pact.” Amerian was insistent.

 

“What's going to happen? What do those papers you've got there have to do with it? Where'd they come from?” Jim asked.

 

“I wrote them last night after I awoke. Elune came to me. She never speaks to anyone directly that I have heard of, and yet she came and spoke to me last night in the Dream. She told me to write everything down so I wouldn't forget.” The scribe replied. “I'm glad she did. It's all getting hazier in my mind the longer I go. But the most important thing she told me, the thing people need to know, is that Azeroth is waking up.”

 

Looks of surprise crossed both human men's expressions. “Excuse me?” Jim asked.

 

Grayson hearing the exchange and seeing the Night Elf man's disconcerted body language and hearing the urgent, even frightened tone of his voice became concerned and then also stood up. When he heard Amerian's pronouncement, a grave and sober look came over his face and he asked, “Are you certain it wasn't just a dream?”

 

“This wasn't just any dream, human. This was _the_ Dream I met her in. The Emerald Dream of Azeroth unscathed and unmolested. I have never felt anything more real in all the thousands of years I have walked this world.” Amerian told him.

 

The Paladin then asked him, “May I see those?” Gesturing for the pages in the Night Elf's lavender hand.

 

Amerian then handed them to him and he began to read. The Kaldorei man had written them hastily in human common. As he read, he sat down trying to absorb the message contained therein.

 

“This came last night? In a vision?” Grayson asked the Night Elf scribe.

 

Amerian nodded. “I swear, it's everything I saw and heard.” He responded.

 

“Well, what's it say?” Jim asked, his smile faltering a bit as Grayson's expression grew more serious and somber.

 

“Amerian's right, Jim. We need to warn them. All of them.” Grayson then pronounced. “There's no time to waste.”

 

“Warn who?” Jim asked, confused.

 

“Everyone. The whole world. Everything has just changed.” Grayson told him. “Our world is about to end, and Jeshua's the only way anyone survives it.”

 

Jim's eyes went wide as he exclaimed, “Holy Light. I...” The sailor looked as if he was going to be ill. He then composed himself and said, “You're right, we need to get everyone together and make a plan. We need to send word to Syloren and Andrew where they're at. We need to...” The older man looked overwhelmed as the implications of Grayson's words sank in. “I don't know... I'm no strategist... All those people...”

 

Grayson paused for a minute before responding, “But I am. I helped strategize and coordinate attacks for the Order during the war. Maybe I can put that experience to good use here. We'll need everyone, and we'll need to inform Sylvanas. Lord Tyrosus, the Highlord, and all of Azeroth's leadership. The Order of the Silver Hand may be a resource as well as its devoted to the Light and apolitical.”

 

Grayson's mind began to whir as it started thinking in terms of assets, resources, and battle plans.

 

Jim nodded appreciatively. “Thank you, Grayson. It looks like the Captain brought you on board at just the right time after all.”

 

* * *

 

Elsewhere in Lordaeron City...

 

The Davidson family had just finished breakfast when a knock came at the sturdy wooden door of the apartment which had been assigned to them. The executors and overseers of the city had been impressed with the craftsmanship that Joseph and his sons quickly displayed. Soon, they had been so swamped with work and requests for more that they had been assigned people to assist them and found themselves overseeing a large number of woodworkers in the city at the request of the magistrates.

 

They had been fortunate that the living space which had been available had a kitchen alcove with fireplace for baking and cooking. Not all of the newly refurbished apartments did, many of the people expected to take their meals in a commons like the inns or among the laborers while construction was still ongoing. Special consideration was given because of their children which were still a rarity among those in the north.

 

The table was still in the process of being cleared, and the smells of breakfast still hung in the air. Some locally obtained meat and fried spice bread with herbed eggs which had been sold in the market much earlier that morning. Joseph still sat at his place going over some sheets of paper containing work orders which had been given with his two sons, Jimmy and Joseph jr. who had become invaluable to him.

 

“You know, I never expected to come here and find myself buried in even more work than we had back in Stormwind.” He remarked as he read.

 

Miriam Davidson had just collected the dishes and placed them into a wash basin filled with water when she heard her older son, Jimmy, call out, “Mom, it's for you!” After the door had been unlatched,

somewhat annoyed at being interrupted, but curious as to who it might be, she dried her hands quickly, wiping them on a hand towel nearby and then went from the kitchen to the door.

 

As her son opened the door wider upon her approach, and then stepped out of the way, she saw the friendly face of Archbishop Alonsus Faol robed once more as a mere Priest of the Light, and not according to the station which she knew he was entitled to. A warm smile of greeting crossed her face at seeing the grandfatherly older man. Since they had met in the Cathedral he had taken it upon himself to take her and her family under his wing and welcome them not only to the city, but back into the congregation of the church, introducing them all to her son's emissaries and helping her to see the good Jeshua had done for them all. She owed the man a great debt, she felt.

 

 

 

“Your grace! We weren't expecting you. Oh, we've just finished breakfast too, but I might still have some spiced bread and honey out on the table.” Miriam told him, flustered that she hadn't been warned of his visit.

 

“Oh, no! Please, don't. I only stopped by because there was someone I knew who very much would want to meet you. I hope it is not an imposition upon you.” The man told her with a genuine smile, though there was a look in his eyes that suggested he wasn't certain how that meeting would go. The clergyman then gestured behind him to a female figure wearing a cowl to hide her features. She too wore gilded white robes which marked her as a devotee of the Light and a Priestess.

 

“May we come in?” He asked. “It might be best if this was done privately.”

 

“Of... Of course, your grace.” Miriam responded, uncertain of who the unknown woman was or why the kind elder cleric seemed so uncertain and yet intentional about the meeting. “Joseph, we have guests.” She then turned and told her husband and children.

 

The archbishop and the woman who had come with him entered the dwelling, and then bade Miriam close the door discreetly.

 

Joseph looked up from where he had sat, and then stood up to move to greet the cleric and shake his hand warmly. “It's good to see you, your grace. You're always welcome here among us.”

 

“Thank you, sir. That means more to me than you might know.” Bishop Faol replied.

 

“And who might this be?” Joseph then asked, stretching out his hand in a welcome gesture to the unknown woman.

 

“It is a great honor, sir.” Came the woman's voice as she took his hand, and Joseph noted how much like his wife's her voice sounded.

 

She then drew back her cowl, revealing a handsome middle aged woman about Miriam's height. Her shoulder length hair was strawberry blond like Miriam's own though strands of silver could be seen here and there. Her eyes, misting over as she looked on the younger woman, and lined with light crow's feet marks, were also sea green like Miriam's. Joseph's wife looked on her new guest and had the strangest feeling of looking into a kind of mirror of what she herself might look like much later in life. She felt familiar, and yet she knew she had never met the woman before that she could remember.

 

She found that she had trouble taking her own eyes from her.

 

“Miriam Davidson, may I introduce you to Calia. Calia... Menethil.” Bishop Faol told her, hesitating before giving the woman's family name.

 

And then the living space went dead silent as the elder cleric added two more words, “Your mother.”

 

Joseph's eyes moved from Calia to Miriam and back to Calia again as he tried to process what the Bishop had said. He remembered the paintings and pictures he had seen of the royal Menethil family, and remembered the name of the princess who had long been thought dead after the third war. Those pictures had always depicted a much younger woman barely out of childhood.

 

Miriam said nothing. Her hand came to her open mouth in shock as emotion after emotion surfaced and then disappeared only to surface again in her expression. This went on as the two women looked at each other unsure of what to say, or even what to feel.

 

It was Bishop Faol who then spoke again, breaking the deafening silence. “I hid Calia's continued existence from both the Lich King and the Banshee Queen for decades as we moved from hiding spot to hiding spot across Lordaeron, always trying to keep her safe from those that would see her dead. Neither of us believed she had any family left in the world until now. When I learned who you were, I kept my word. I did not reveal your identity to anyone in this city. Your mother has not set foot in this city in many years, but has remained in the cloister at Netherlight Temple far, far away from here. I... I thought it only right that I tell her. Forgive me, if I was mistaken.”

 

“My...” Miriam then spoke, her gaze still on the woman in front of her. In truth, she didn't know how to respond to any of it. There had been many sisters in the cloister in which she was raised that had been like mothers to her and had, at one time, filled that place in her life. She had, once upon a time been curious as to her origins, but they had not been terribly important to her among those sisters. When Joseph had revealed what he had suspected of her origins, in truth it had frightened her just a little.

 

“Perhaps this was a mistake.” Calia then spoke, tears in her eyes. “I shouldn't have come here and disturbed you and your beautiful family. I should return home. I'm terribly sorry.”

 

She then turned, pain in her expression, and made to draw her cowl over her face once more and depart.

 

“No, wait.” Miriam then called out behind her. “Please, stay.”

 

In truth, she didn't know what else to say, but she did not want this woman who so resembled herself to just walk out of her life after just learning that she existed. “I want you to stay. I want... I want to know more. I... I would like to know you.”

 

Calia then turned around once more, some hope lit in her eyes. “And I you.” She replied.

 

“Please. Won't you come and sit down?” Miriam invited her, gesturing to the chairs at the table.

 

“Yes, please. Uh... Your Highness. Please, you're absolutely welcome here with us.” Joseph joined his wife in the invitation somewhat awkwardly.

 

Calia laughed a bit through the tears which had fallen down her cheeks. “Please, just Calia. That was another lifetime long, long ago.”

 

“Uh, yeah. Of course, uh... Calia. Please, come and sit down though.” He replied. “We don't turn away family.”

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

 

In Lordaeron City...

 

Anduin stood in the entry courtyard of Lordaeron City around midmorning. The morning mist which had arisen overnight from the lake below the city to the south had finally lifted, but had left the air chilled and still moist. He was dressed in a white gentleman's shirt, with gray woolen vest, and black woolen trousers held up by a plain brown leather belt, all of which he had worn for several days of travel. A long black, lambswool overcoat with brown trim cut in the Gilnean style completed his appearance. They had been a Gilnean nobleman's clothes once upon a time, he had been certain. His benefactor, the salvage trader Horus who had parted ways with him upon reaching the city, hadn't collected any shoes from Gilneas that might have fit the young monarch, however. His own boots remained on his feet, but weren't as conspicuous as the rest of his royal clothes had been. These had been left in a trunk in the house in Pyrewood. His father's sword, Shalamayne, had been carefully wrapped in leather so as not to reveal what it was, and tied to his back with a leather strap.

 

 _Genn would approve of the new look at any rate._ Anduin had thought ironically to himself.

 

Anduin didn't know what had happened to his friend and sometimes mentor in the craft of kingship and of war. The old wolf's gray furred face had been the last thing he remembered from that night before the Gilnean lord had attacked him and knocked him unconscious shouting, “For the Alliance!” He still refused to believe that Genn would have betrayed him, although the evidence as he sifted through it suggested otherwise. The old man had been there for him after his father's death and helped him fight through his sorrow and grief to become the High King the Alliance needed to defeat the Legion. Before that he had been one of his father's best friends. The two of them had shared a common bond which Anduin hadn't fully understood but had to do with the curse of the Worgen, and his father's own dual nature as both Varian and “Lo'gosh,” the wolf spirit.

 

Anduin couldn't believe those bonds would so easily be broken, and had been struggling to find another explanation.

 

The atmosphere in the courtyard was not like the entry to Stormwind which led directly into the city's bustling Trade District full of busy markets and shops. Instead, those entering the city for business or trade did not linger there but immediately headed off to the left up flights of steps and through a passage in the stone walls deeper into the rising metropolis. The atmosphere in the courtyard was somber and serene, and felt like his father's memorial at Lion's Rest.

 

Fresh grass grew around a central raised dais where a white marble statue had once stood, though only its feet could now be seen. In one corner of the courtyard, a shallow hole had been left where it had been made. Two halves of a great stone block which had been broken lay to either side of it. A short fence had been placed around it to prevent tampering with the site as had two guards in polished, ceremonial armor. Towards the entry to the keep, fresh water flowed in pools and under a lowered drawbridge which led to a closed, heavy wooden door with three clearly discernible holes set as points in an inverted triangle. Brown bloodstains had dried on the door, but were heaviest around the holes which appeared to be where spikes had been driven and then removed. An honor guard had been set on either side of this door as well. Both sites memorialized something which Sylvanas did not want her people forgetting any time soon.

 

Anduin did not have to guess what that event was. It had clearly impacted both her, and the rest of the people of Lordaeron deeply and in ways that had changed who they were both physically and spiritually. The impact of Jeshua's life, death, and resurrection was everywhere to be seen and felt. Anduin had experienced illusory magic before and this was nothing like it. There was nothing false or insincere about these people.

 

The trip north from Pyrewood Village had demonstrated that if nothing else. Horus and he had passed farms and villages where people were busy patching roofs, planting crops, and rebuilding fences. The farmers that had welcomed them to stay overnight on the road were both genuine and quite living, eating, drinking, sweating, laughing, and, like Horus, silently grieving for those who hadn't survived their undeath long enough to see the day when it would be lifted. The salvage trader knew most of the folks along the highway having traded with them at some point in the past thirty years, though they didn't recognize the handsome, blond young man with the boyish face that traveled with him.

 

Horus had introduced him as “Gavin”, a young man recently come east from Hillsbrad looking for work. Anduin had played along, not knowing how the formerly Forsaken would respond to who he truly was. It had surprised him how much the former undead worked to help one another no matter who it was.

 

When he had mentioned it to Horus along the road, the man responded, “No one else was going to help us. Even the other members of the Horde didn't really trust us. What family some of us had in the south or among the living abandoned us as monsters and worse. We all looked out for each other 'cause that's all we had.”

 

And for those who knew the circumstances of their restoration, they had nothing but gracious words for Jeshua, his teachings, and his emissaries. Many if not most he encountered quoted to him something Jeshua had said or taught. This was especially true when talking about the Alliance and his own kingdom to the south. The anger towards Stormwind and their relatives and people who turned against them was real, but so also was the struggle to follow what Jeshua taught and forgive, doing good to those who did harm to them. Anduin had been humbled and ashamed by all of the good people he had met during that journey, all of whom up until Jeshua had come had been undead and left without hope by his own.

 

“Good luck, son.” Horus had told him before moving on deeper into the city to trade his salvaged wares. “It's been an honor having you for a traveling companion. It gives me some hope to know the south has someone like you in charge now. I hope things get made right for you.”

 

“The honor was entirely mine.” Anduin had responded gentlemanly, meaning every word. “Thank you, my friend.”

 

The King of Stormwind considered all of these things for some time as he stood there in the center of the courtyard taking in the scene. Then he turned his mind back to the problem at hand. He had been considering his next move for the last several days as they had traveled together. He needed to contact the other Alliance leadership and let them know he was alive and well, as almost certainly they would have heard of the ambush by now. The unexplained disappearance of the King of Stormwind would not go unnoticed unless there was some imposter there assuming his place, and he could not rule that out. At the moment however, his options for communication with them were nonexistent. The nearest Alliance outpost was Chillwind Camp in what had been the Western Plaguelands. If he remembered his geography, that was to the east of Lordaeron, and south of Andorhal. But even if he were to reach that, he didn't know if he could trust his own people.

 

The fact remained that if Genn Greymane somehow didn't betray him, that someone within the Stormwind Guard or even SI:7 had, and he didn't know how deep that betrayal went. Ironically, he had come to realize, for the time being he felt safer there in Horde controlled Lordaeron City as “Gavin” than he did as King Anduin Wrynn in Stormwind City. The city around him felt more peaceful, more hopeful, and more filled with Light by far than Stormwind had in many weeks.

 

His first choice would have been to find a way to contact the Prophet Velen in the Exodar, or barring that, Muradin and Moira in Ironforge. The Draenei were the most attuned people to the Light that he knew, and the Dwarves he had known had been the most loyal, stubborn, and solid friends he could ever have. But he had no means of doing that at the moment, and if he understood how mage's portals and teleportation was regulated by the Kirin Tor, there was no one in Lordaeron City that could help him even if they wanted to. Horde Mages couldn't just open portals to Alliance capitals nor vice versa. The runed stones they used to focus the energies to create them wouldn't allow for it, and the Mage had to be able to visualize where he wanted to go in the first place. It was the only reason neither his father nor Garrosh Hellscream had dropped battalions of troops or squads of mercenaries and adventurers into each other's capitals using them when their relations were at their worst.

 

He had considered the zeppelin towers to the north of the city which he had seen and where those might take him. He had heard that the Horde used the balloon powered airships to travel in between the continents the same way Stormwind used regular ships. If that was true, then perhaps he would be able to make it as far as Kalimdor and then try and find a way to either Darnassus or the Exodar from there. So far, he had succeeded in remaining unrecognized. But if one of those ships did go to Kalimdor, there was no guarantee that it would be docking close to the northwest coast where he could catch another ship at Lor'danel to an Alliance stronghold, and Kalimdor was a big continent.

 

Off to his right he could see several people, all Sindorei, emerging from another passageway and coming down similar flights of stone steps as were off to his left. He watched silently as, curiously, they all passed by him, ignoring the young human man, and ascended the steps to the passageway off to his left rather than leaving through the main gate of the city.

 

He waited until they had left completely and then made his way up the steps to the passageway in the stone walls off to the right to investigate. As he did, more people emerged from it and passed him by, again all possessed of the lithe, elven frame and tapered ears of the Sindorei that he could see.

 

Passing through, he found himself in another walled courtyard with no other exit. There was no place from which to enter it except the passage he had just come through. Stone walls rose around him, and a stone floor ran under his feet. There was no ornamentation in this courtyard. There was no broken statuary that he could see, no benches, nothing except a unique fixture situated at the other end. It was a ruby red globe set into a golden frame and placed at an angle on a stand. The globe pulsed with a kind of warm red glow.

 

He had never seen such a device before then. To him, it appeared to be of Thalassian make because of the artistry and architecture of the thing, though of course he couldn't know for certain.

 

 _What is this and what does it do?_ He wondered.

 

Just then, as he observed it, an elven man wearing Mage's robes flashed into existence in front of it from nowhere followed by two women in the armor of the Blood Knight Paladins of the Sindorei. Treating it as a common occurrence, the three turned away from the crimson orb and walked towards the passage.

 

“Well, I'm glad the Quel'dorei have finally come to their senses. I thought it was going to come to blows. For once, I can honestly say I'm glad to be away from Quel'Thalas for the moment.” The Mage spoke loud enough for Anduin to hear. “Sometimes the translocation orb is more of a blessing than we realize.”

 

“Who would have expected the Warchief to be the one to calm things down?” One of the Paladins with blue black hair responded. “I heard she's going to stay in Silvermoon for a time to work things out with her sisters.”

 

“I hope so.” The other Paladin, a silver blond elven woman replied. “It would be terrible if it came to civil war among us. I don't want to have to fight our own people especially after the New Dawn. It just wouldn't be right, not with what the human preacher did to make it happen.”

 

The elves passed him by and continued on meaning to pass him. On a hunch he asked one of them in a casual manner, “Silvermoon safe yet to visit?”

 

“Oh...” The flame haired Mage replied as though seeing Anduin for the first time. “Yes. There wasn't really ever any trouble in Silvermoon City itself. You can use the orb of translocation to conduct business there without fear, human.”

 

“Thanks.” Anduin replied as the group moved on. Behind him he heard the Mage tell the other two, “I must admit I'm still getting used to seeing living humans as allies once more. He genuinely surprised me there.”

 

The threesome passed out of sight and hearing and Anduin was once again alone.

 

“Translocation orb, huh?” Anduin then said to himself gazing once more on the device, his mind beginning to work.

 

“So, this goes to Quel'Thalas, and that's where Sylvanas is right now. There's a good bet Lor'themar Theron is there as well.” He said to himself as he thought, remembering the peace talks at Light's Hope Chapel with the elven woman.

 

He didn't know if he could or would ever call Sylvanas a friend, but as he stood there he realized that he had already called her something of an ally once in their mutual desire for peace. He had discerned no deception or lie from her, and the Paladin Highlord as well, a man whom he trusted with his life, appeared to trust her intentions and words by the end of their summit.

 

If he could not reach his own friends in the Alliance, perhaps he could at least reach an ally within the Horde? Genn would have called the idea insane of course and reckless. But Genn wasn't there, and he still didn't know who among his own people he could trust.

 

Furthermore, the Sylvanas Windrunner he had met was firmly entrenched in her newfound devotion to the Holy Light through Jeshua Lightborn. Those that attacked him and his men in the Cathedral had done so using Void and Fel magic, things no true follower of the Holy Light would dabble in as far as he was concerned. At the very least, he felt it a certainty that the Warchief would not willingly be allied with them. Right now, that seemed to him to be more trustworthy than professed loyalty to the Alliance. In the craft of war, the enemy of your enemy was your friend, and right now he believed his true enemy was the Shadow and Fel users that had ambushed him.

 

It was a risk, maybe even a reckless risk, but the Sylvanas Windrunner he had met at Light's Hope Chapel might be his only chance at reaching Velen, Muradin, or Tyrande.

 

Making up his mind, he approached the orb. He knew most teleportation stones required that you at least be touching the stone. He reached out his hand to feel the surface of the orb and...

 

Anduin's stomach felt as though it had turned inside out and his head spun as the scene around him instantly changed. The stone walls of the courtyard vaporized and were instantly replaced with smooth crimson and purple draped elegantly curving architecture. The stone floor beneath him was replaced with plush carpeting and luxurious tile and golden railings.

 

He pulled his hand away quickly and instinctively as his mind struggled to catch up with his new surroundings. He stepped backwards and away from the orb in front of him, looking around to get his bearings. Quickly he realized he wasn't in Lordaeron any longer.

 

The curving, elegant designs draped and colored in crimson and gold, and the firebird sigils and motif which appeared frequently suggested he was in a chamber of Sindorei origin. When his stomach settled he saw that he was at the apex of a set of ramps on either side of him which led down into a larger, luxuriously decorated chamber which looked like it had been meant for royalty.

 

Slowly but casually so as to not attract much attention, he descended the ramp to his right and came to the floor of the room. The orb of translocation, he could see as he turned to look, had been placed on a ledge overlooking the cylindrical chamber. Posted at various points around the room were a token number of guards wearing ceremonial crimson and gold armor of elven make. They stood still as statues, watching him and everything else that might happen there. In their hands were long thin spears with sharp golden tipped heads.

 

And then he saw a face he certainly recognized. The elven leader's crimson eyepatch, long platinum hair, and facial scar from fighting for his people for most of his life were unmistakable. The man wore crimson leather and chain mail as he stood consulting with an underling whom Anduin did not recognize, though his expression was not one of a man about to enter combat, but of a ruler with hundreds of thousands if not millions of people to look after. It was an expression Anduin could relate to and respect.

 

 _Well, it's now or never._ Anduin decided, and then, drawing himself up with his natural, regal bearing, he approached the elven Regent Lord.

 

“Regent Lord Theron.” Anduin addressed him, causing the man to turn slightly to see who was addressing him.

 

The elven man's eyes went wide with confused recognition of the young man approaching him. Sensing something amiss, the previously statuesque guards moved quickly to surround the human with their spears faster than Anduin could process. He ceased his approach and waited for the elf to respond. Hands down at his side, his stance still projected strength and nobility even though physically threatened.

 

Lor'themar's face quickly recovered as he addressed his new “guest”, “Anduin Wrynn, what an unexpected... pleasure.” He told him, but making no move to dismiss his guards.

 

Anduin took it as a positive sign that he also made no move to unsheath the two handed blade he held in a harness at his back. Instead, he appeared intrigued. “To what does Silvermoon City owe the honor of a singular visit by the King of Stormwind?”

 

Calling up his own courage, and the nobility and authority to which he had been born, he gave a quick but silent plea to the Light and then said aloud, “I must speak with your Warchief. There are urgent matters which need to be discussed between us.”

 

Lor'themar continued to study the younger man's face. “There are other channels which may be used than the direct approach for a meeting... Your majesty.” He replied in a mild, mocking tone. “Perhaps your tutors in kingcraft neglected to mention them? The reason why one sends ambassadors is to keep themselves from the unenviable position of being placed in enemy hands, such as you yourself are now in.”

 

“But are we truly enemies at this point, Regent Lord?” Anduin returned, using the tone of a diplomat. “Your Warchief has stood down the Horde's forces and so have we. Did we not agree in principle to work together?”

 

“Point taken. I seem to remember that we recently did.” Lor'themar said, pausing for a minute and then waving his hand, gesturing for his guards to resume their former stations. “However, that does not make mine invalid. What are you doing here, alone especially? I was not aware that our relations with Stormwind had thawed to the point where unannounced social calls were the norm.”

 

“It is no social call.” Anduin replied. “And it may concern the Horde greatly as well if I am right. If you want there to be lasting peace between Horde and Alliance in Azeroth, then you will allow me to speak directly with Sylvanas Windrunner.”

 

Lor'themar considered this intently before he responded. He could tell from the young man's eyes that it was no game that he was playing, and that necessity had driven him to somehow find and use the orb of translocation to bring him directly there. “Very well. Come with me if you please, your majesty.”

 

The elven ruler gestured to Anduin to join him and they both started walking down a short hallway lined with exquisite elven art and carpeting.

 

Lor'themar continued, “The Warchief is still to the south spending time resolving a disagreement among our people. Come to think of it, perhaps your arrival is timely after all as it concerns that peace between us you have spoken of. Many of our people who have been restored by Jeshua's New Dawn don't remember the aftermath of the third war or the last thirty years. They don't remember the, ah, souring of our relations with the Alliance.”

 

Anduin quickly understood the elf's problem. “And they all woke up to living in a Horde aligned kingdom.”

 

“Precisely.” Lor'themar replied. “Perhaps your presence could continue to ease their minds that we are not in fact at war with each other, and that hostility between us is totally unnecessary. If we cannot fully resolve this, I fear it may lead to a civil war which will destroy the elven lives which were just restored. Sindorei or Quel'dorei, we are all still the same people in spite of our politics.” He then added, “I abhor politics.” He almost spat the word as though it left a foul taste in his mouth.

 

The elven leader's tone of voice gained some genuine emotion as he said this and Anduin was inclined to believe he truly cared about what happened to the people of Quel'Thalas. He could imagine that a civil war was the last thing Lor'themar Theron would ever want for his people.

 

“As long as it doesn't compromise or harm the Alliance, I'll do what I can. You have my word.” Anduin told him. “But I truly need to speak with Sylvanas.”

 

“That is all I can reasonably ask, your majesty. Once upon a time our peoples were allies against a common enemy. Perhaps there is some hope for the future then.” Lor'themar replied, a sincerity in his voice.

 

“That has always been my hope as well, your excellency.” Anduin replied.

 

“To be honest, you are the second human I would consider of any importance to ask to see the Warchief today.” The Regent Lord then told him in an offhanded manner.

 

“Oh?” Anduin asked as they turned into a side chamber.

 

The room they found themselves in was occupied by Sindorei wearing the robes of Mages and appearing to have just been waiting for someone to come and see them. Around the chamber were shelves full of old books, tomes, and scrolls. The air within the room crackled with ley energies.

 

“Yes, one of Jeshua's emissaries, a man named Thaddeus Jude came from Lordaeron earlier this morning with a message for Sylvanas he also said was extremely urgent, though he did not go into the details with me. I can only presume the Warchief will inform me if it concerns Quel'Thalas at all.” He told him. Then he motioned to one of the Mages and told her, “You, open a portal to Tranquillien.” He then added more politely, “Please, and follow behind.”

 

The woman nodded and soon a swirling oval of sapphire energies had formed in front of them. Lor'themar then motioned in a gentlemanly, inviting gesture as he said, “After you.”

 

Anduin then stepped through and found himself instantly transported yet once more as he stepped from thick carpeted flooring to cracked but paved elven road in the center of a Quel'dorei town that had begun the process of crumbling many, many years before and was only now undergoing repairs to its structures. Behind him, as he stepped out of the way, the elven lord followed. The Mage who had opened the portal was the last to step through before it closed once more.

 

Around him, High Elves of nearly every shape and size (as much as that varied among them) were moving around the town, talking to one another and observing those coming and going. Anduin felt dozens of pairs of elvish eyes on him as he appeared, though he doubted any would recognize him.

 

“Come, this way.” Lor'themar told him. “If I am not mistaken, she will be in the meeting hall at this hour at the table with her sisters.”

 

“Her sisters?” Anduin asked, knowing only a little about Sylvanas' family history.

 

“Yes. Vereesa and Alleria, whom I believe you know.” The Regent Lord commented.

 

“The one who convinced me to bring the Void Elves in as allies, yes. I know of her.” Anduin replied, his voice uneasy. It had been practitioners of the Void which had attacked him, of this he was certain. “I am now not so certain that was wisdom.” He commented.

 

“I don't think you'll find any argument on that point from anyone here now, least of all Alleria Windrunner herself.” The elven leader returned. “The emissary of Jeshua that traveled with the Warchief here the other day somehow purged the Void from her and her retinue entirely. I admit I have never seen anything like it in my life, and I have seen many, many things.”

 

“Really?” Anduin asked. This was news to him, and welcome news if it was true.

 

“I saw it with my own good eye.” Lor'themar assured him as they entered the large, white and gold building on the east side of the road. “Alleria has since told us that she has not been in control of herself since the Void took possession of her on Argus.”

 

Inside, a table had been set up, but those who were meant to be seated at it were standing near one another instead. Several pages of light parchment paper were being passed back and forth between three elven women, one of whom Anduin recognized as the Warchief of the Horde, one Vereesa, her sister whom he had met on more official occasions involving the Silver Covenant and the Alliance, and of course the eldest Windrunner sister, Alleria. Next to Sylvanas was standing a mousy brown haired human man in plain, unadorned linen robes and bare feet. They were paying no attention to the entryway.

 

“Is this all there is?” Sylvanas inquired of the human man, speaking in Thalassian, her voice sounded urgent and unsettled.

 

“Yes, my queen.” The man replied in the same tongue, clearly deferential to the elven woman. “This is everything Amerian wrote down from the vision he received.”

 

“It sounds like Night Elf religious babble.” Vereesa said aloud. “I have known many good Kaldorei of various disciplines, but their visions and religion aren't always trustworthy.”

 

“I don't trust the Night Elf religion either, but do I trust this man, and what he says.” Sylvanas replied. “If he says this vision is true, then I must take it seriously.”

 

“But wouldn't the shamans and the Earthen Ring know first about something like this?” Alleria asked.

 

“I don't know. But I believe King Anduin will need to be informed as well. This affects all of us. We need to warn him and the Alliance.” Sylvanas replied.

 

Then Anduin stepped forward and asked fluently using the elven language he had been tutored in since a small child, “I will need to be informed of what, Sylvanas?”

 

All heads turned towards the young blond human man who had just entered the chamber. Just then Anduin realized how much the Windrunner sisters really resembled each other. They were not triplets as far as he knew, but they could have been. All gave surprised, shocked looks at his sudden appearance.

 

Sylvanas was the first to recover, shaking her head as if to snap herself back to the present. “I would ask what you are doing here, but as it stands your arrival is fortunate.” She told him, and then thrust the pages they had been passing back and forth towards him. “Read this. One of Jeshua's emissaries had a vision last night and wrote down everything he was instructed. If it is true, all of our disagreements, petty or not, are now meaningless in the face of what's coming.”

 

“What is coming?” Anduin asked soberly.

 

“The end of our world.” The Warchief replied.

 

Her expression was hard and serious as she spoke. He took the pages from her and began to read. As he worked his way through the incredible first person narrative his own expression grew more and more serious as well.

 

“Holy Light.” He exclaimed as he read, coming to the end of the last page. “This can't be real.” He said, though his tone of voice suggested otherwise. “If it is...”

 

“May I?” Lor'themar then asked from next to where the King of Stormwind then stood, reaching out politely. Anduin handed the pages to him, and he too began to read.

 

Anduin's mind raced with the implications. _Elune never really speaks like this, and she never manifests to anyone in a physical form._ It was something he had been told once about her worship by Tyrande Whisperwind, the High Priestess of the moon goddess's temple and leader of the Kaldorei. But it had been one of Jeshua's emissaries who had seen this vision, and there was no real question anymore in his mind of their legitimacy or power.

 

And then his mind turned to someone who may know the truth about it, an old friend who kept one ear to the ground where Azeroth was concerned and who had warned them before when she was in trouble. The only question was how to find him, and if he wanted to be found. He tended to show up in unexpected places.

 

“This is... incredible to say the least.” Lor'themar pronounced. “But I'm not sure how much stock I would place in Night Elf religious ramblings either. In this at least, I would tend to agree with Vereesa.”

 

“And if it is true, and we do nothing? What then?” Sylvanas told him.

 

“There may be a way to verify what this emissary has written.” Anduin then spoke up once more. “But we would need to find King Magni Bronzebeard once more. He has warned us before when Azeroth's world soul has been in distress, and he's always been right. If anyone would know what was happening with her, it would be him.”

 

“That could take days or weeks that we may not have.” Sylvanas insisted. “There are millions of people on this world and only a very few, mostly from Lordaeron, have taken Jeshua's pact.” She then turned to the human man and asked, “Is this the only copy of this vision?” To which he replied, “No. This is the second copy Amerian transcribed. The original is still in Lordaeron City with the others.”

 

Hearing this, Sylvanas then turned to Lor'themar and assuming a posture of authority towards him as his Warchief instructed him, “Take these pages and have Silvermoon's scribes and Mages make as many copies as possible. Translate them into every language spoken on this planet and make them ready to distribute throughout our territories immediately.” As an afterthought she added, “Do the same with Amerian's previous book about Jeshua as well. Not all of our people may know anything about him.”

 

“I would advise caution, Warchief.” Lor'themar then told her, holding up his hands as though trying to slow her down. “If this is just Night Elf nonsense, we and Jeshua's followers would look like fools when it does not come true. It would be better to wait and...”

 

Anduin watched as Sylvanas' expression hardened even further and her eyes grew dark as she glared at the Regent Lord and an echo of the Banshee Queen she had been crossed her beautiful elven features twisting them into something that would make a seasoned warrior quake in his armor. When she spoke, her voice was carefully controlled but filled with a cold anger. It was not raised, but every word felt like an arrow from her bow striking as it left her mouth. “I would rather do something and be a fool, than do nothing and be a monster. I have been a monster before, Lor'themar. I have murdered men, women, and children in cold blood without a hint of feeling or remorse. I know how to do that very well. Jeshua gave me another chance. I don't intend to waste it. Print the damn books and follow my orders.”

 

What color there was drained from Lor'themar's face as he felt her eyes bore into him, every word like an arrow finding its mark and forcefully reminding him of to whom he was speaking, a woman who, at one time, had no compunctions or remorse about slaughtering her own kind when they dared to side with the Alliance instead of the Horde.

 

Hesitating as though stunned for several seconds, Lor'themar then responded, “Yes, Warchief. It will be done as you command.”

 

She then turned her frightening gaze to Anduin and asked, “Now, what do you need to find your diamond dwarf?”


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

 

In the Maker's Overlook, Sholazar Basin in Northrend...

 

_Magni!_

 

“Tha' canna be right.” Magni Bronzebeard said to himself as he walked through the halls of the Maker's Overlook. The ancient Titan facility, built high into the solid stone of the protective walls of the jungles of Sholazar Basin, was tens of millennia old at least and had been used as a both a research outpost for the development of life on Azeroth by the powerful, godlike beings, and as a place to speak to their “sister” who continued to sleep at the heart of Magni's world.

 

The voice had been clear and distinct. Except for himself, the only other “beings” in the Titan facility were the automaton guardians who, though a great bunch of robots, weren't usually the conversational type. The Light knew he had tried, it being a little lonely since his transformation into solid diamond in order to commune with the planet's soul. No, the voice he had heard was lyrical, like a beautiful song he could listen to all day. It was also familiar to him. Unmistakably familiar.

 

But it had never been so distinct, or so clear. And he hadn't heard it apart from the hall of communion deep within the structure, and its Titan made equipment for speaking with the world soul. Magni regularly used that equipment to check on his charge and see how she was doing. In the space of the many years since he had assumed his diamond form, Azeroth and he had struck up a kind of friendship or even kinship, he had felt.

 

He knew she'd been feeling better over the last couple of months. He didn't know all the details, but he knew the Holy Light had healed her in a big way starting somewhere in Lordaeron. Her nightmares and pain had disappeared, and she wasn't scared anymore either. Instead, she'd been sounding stronger and happier than he'd known her to be in years, and it did his Dwarf's heart glad to know it. But he'd always needed the Titan equipment to really understand what she wanted to say to him.

 

When she called his name this time however, it was as clear as though she was standing next to him in the upper levels of the facility. He had been going for a short walk when he heard her, wanting to stretch his legs a little. It was weird to him that he felt the need to, being now completely crystal, but there it was. When he heard the voice it made him stop where he was.

 

“Azeroth, is tha' you, lass?” He asked into the otherwise empty space of the Titan facility.

 

 _Magni, you need to warn my children!_ The voice came to him again, clear as a bell.

 

“Hammers below, lass! How're you talkin' to me like this?” He asked, surprised. “I can hear ya loud 'n clear.” And then he registered what she said. “Warn them o' what?”

 

 _Magni, it's time! I'm waking up! He's coming!_ She told him, her voice more excited than fearful.

 

“Slow down, lass!” Magni replied, his voice becoming somewhat paternal towards the millennia old Titan. Nevertheless, he was alarmed as he began to move as quickly as he could. heading back into the bowels of the facility towards the hall of communion. “Wha' d'ya mean? Who's coming? Let me get t' the device so ye can show me what yer tryin' t' say.”

 

 _My husband is coming!_ She responded, a joy radiating through her words. _He's coming for me!_

 

Magni quickened his pace as his diamond crystal feet moved across the metal walkways. _Husband? Tha's the first I've heard o' it._ He thought, a twinge of protective jealousy running through him. It felt similar to when he learned of his daughter Moira's foolishness with that Dark Iron husband of hers. _'Course she wasn't in no condition to chat 'bout much besides how bad she felt 'til recently neither. Still, sounds like somethin' she's happy 'bout so I can be too I s'pose._

 

Magni reached the Titan constructed console and began working the controls. “Alright, lass. Show me what's got ye all worked up.”

 

He had expected some hazy, indistinct images and mostly feelings like most of the previous times before. That was not what he received this time. Clear, crisp images of a time long ago, a human like man made of Holy Light just as Magni was made of diamond, and the planet cracking open like an egg to reveal the most radiant, matronly, Light filled woman he had ever laid eyes on. She had skin like a deep azure sapphire and long hair, bright green as fresh grass. She appeared first to him like one of the Night Elves with her tall refined features and long tapered ears, and then in the next instant she had Trollish features, and then again she looked to be human until he realized she was all of these races and more, her features shifting to appear as the native peoples of his world combined into one. Her eyes burned with Light, one silver and one golden which both danced with joyous laughter as she smiled broadly like a virgin bride on her wedding day. She appeared barefoot and her arms and shoulders were also exposed, and wearing a light dress which shimmered with mountains, forests, and green valleys, Mount Hyjal in Kalimdor assuming her left breast, and Highmountain in the Broken Isles the right. A crown of thick, fluffy white clouds sat around her head. She reached out her arms to welcome the Lightborn man, and then Magni's mind's eye was filled with pure, streaming Light burning away all traces of the Void that had threatened her very existence for so long, and a new world formed from their union to take the place of the one which had been torn apart by her new birth, a world without shadows or corruption. A tremor ran through the dwarf's crystalline structure as he witnessed the Titan's thoughts. Had he tear ducts any longer, they would have been streaming for the beauty and majesty of what she showed him.

 

_They can't hear my voice like you can, Magni. You have to warn my children. My time has come._

 

Magni was silent for several minutes, unable to speak or respond at what the world soul had shown him. When he was finally able to speak he answered, “Aye, lass. I'll warn them. But what do I say? If what you've shown me is true, there's nothin' any mortal can do without harmin' ye 'n we'd be doomin' ourselves anyway if we did. It's a no win for us.”

 

 _My husband's plan._ She responded. _He planned for this. He made a way for them to escape. He made a way for them to be adopted. Tell my children, please. I don't want to lose them._ Azeroth pleaded with him, her voice heartbreaking as she referred to those mortals on his world as “my children.”

 

Magni listened, trying to think of what to do and how to help both his world and her people. He didn't know what she meant by “adopted” but maybe someone else might. He wasn't worried for himself. His diamond form was so hard and durable it could survive virtually any cataclysm which might engulf the planet. He didn't even need air to breathe or food to eat, really. He could survive even out in the Great Dark without a world and its environment to protect him.

 

 _Aye, but not everyone's as indestructible as me neither._ _What about me daughter, Moira, 'n Muradin me brother?_ He thought, then his thoughts extended to all the dwarves of Ironforge, most of whom were his kin in some form or another. _I couldna go on like tha'. But where do I even start?_

 

The image of a familiar man came into his crystalline head. He was a dedicated Paladin, and had worked with Magni before, during the Legion war. If anyone could help, it would be him.

 

“Alright, lass. I'll do wha' I can. There's a good man I know who can help I hope. He'll know more 'bout what's happenin' in the outside world, anyways. He came through for us when you warned us last time 'bout Argus 'n the Titans, anyways.” He answered her.

 

 _My thanks... dearest Magni._ She replied, and then her voice faded as though tired from the effort expended to talk to him in that way.

 

After she said no more, thoughts rushed through Magni's mind coming up with and discarding ideas. He left the hall of communion and made his way to the Titan's teleportation device within the facility, making preparations for a trip to the far east of Lordaeron. Last he knew, the man who had helped them before had become the Silver Hand's new Highlord.

 

* * *

 

In Stormwind City...

 

Gakin the Darkbinder stood in the back of the shadowy sanctuary of Stormwind's Cathedral looking towards the altar. Violet runes and sigils glowed in an unfamiliar pattern on the stained marble floor as Shadow users, human and elven, robed in black and midnight blue conducted their rituals. Next to him was a towering, crimson skinned Nathrezim with jet black horns that he had dominated and drawn from the Twisting Nether to serve him. His bat's wings were drawn back behind him like a wicked cloak, his ebony black hooves clacked and echoed against the marble floor as he walked behind his master, drawing up to his side as he came to a stop. The demon looked on the proceedings with suspicion and some dread in his horned expression.

 

“I do not like the look of this.” He said out loud in the demonic tongue. “I recognize those runes they have drawn. They are _Igannok_. Some of the Orcs and Eredar we subverted toyed with these things to their own detriment, and that of the Legion. They foolishly believed they could control what they summoned. The Void is not a power to be trifled with.”

 

Gakin looked to his slave, nodding in acknowledgment before turning his attention once more to the scene in front of him. His study had always been of the Fel, and the demonic powers which could be harnessed from it. He knew much less of the Shadow or Void itself except where harnessing the lesser voidwalkers was concerned. But he felt he was intelligent enough to be set on his guard if one of the Nether's own Nathrezim was concerned about the activities in front of him.

 

Stormwind had changed much since his first conversation with the Shadow Priest. So much so that Gakin had been able to walk the streets with his new pet unchallenged by the Stormwind Patrols. It had been welcome to himself and his Order as they came out of the shadows to practice their arts. Still, there had been many of the common people they had passed along the streets that had looked upon the Dreadlord with the same fear and suspicion that the demon displayed now. It was all a matter of perspective.

 

“And what did they summon, Drey'van?” Gakin nevertheless asked in the same language.

 

“I believe your people call it a _Void god_.” The Dreadlord replied, its voice calm though clearly concerned. “It consumed many resources to put down and finally destroy. Many Legion forces were sent to the Twisting Nether in the process. One of our strategic worlds was consumed by the effort and shattered.”

 

 _They're trying to summon a Void god?_ Alarms went off in Gakin's mind. Part of him was impressed with their audacity and power, but the other part shared his pet's concerns. What good was there having power when the world around you was in flames?

 

“It would be wise for them to stop if you wish your world to remain intact.” The demon said, then adding deferentially, “Master.”

 

Gakin then turned his eyes towards the Shadow users once more. He looked for a particular balding man whom he knew was far more than he seemed. Seeing him up near the altar drawing more such runes on its surface, he and his demon skirted the rites and followed the walls up to the front of the sanctuary, ascending the steps to the altar.

 

“This is not what we agreed to, Sarvis.” Gakin addressed the older man.

 

The Shadow Priest looked up from what he was doing, slightly annoyed at the interruption. “And I presume then only you are allowed to have your exotic 'pets' then?” He replied, his eyes drifting towards the Nathrezim. “We each had our own goals. Mine was simply more ambitious than you could conceive of.”

 

“You risk all of Azeroth with this. What good is gaining power only to see the world destroyed and you with it?” Gakin voiced his concerns. “The first rule to surpassing your limits is knowing what they are, Shadow Priest, and controlling this thing you and yours are summoning is beyond any mortal ability.”

 

Sarvis smiled. It was an unnerving, evil smile that made even Drey'van take a step backwards from. And then he chuckled malevolently. “Now, I never said a word about _controlling_ anything, did I? I only intend to _aim_ it at a specific target like a hound on a leash or an arrow drawn back before 'zing!'”

 

The Shadow Priest drew his hand back in a releasing gesture.

 

“You're insane.” Gakin told him. “What's to keep it from consuming everything into the Void?”

 

“Why... Nothing!” Sarvis replied. “All will fall to the great Darkness! Azeroth will be consumed by the Shadow!” He then assumed an expression of mocking confusion, “I'm terribly sorry, is that a problem for you? Perhaps you have a conflict on your calendar? A romantic tete-a-tete with a succubus, maybe? Eh? I would reschedule if I were you.”

 

Sarvis then laughed once more before bending down and resuming his rune writing.

 

Horrified at the madness of the man in front of him, Gakin then ordered his slave, “Destroy him! Destroy every Shadow Priest here! Leave no one alive!”

 

Nodding, the Dreadlord bared sharp fangs as he responded, “With great pleasure!”

 

But just as the demon moved, he froze where he stood and began to cackle maniacally. “Why is it you people always forget one small, insignificant, but important detail about our discipline?” The Dreadlord's voice said as it turned to Gakin. “It's so disappointing.”

 

And then as the Warlock looked on, his face twisted in terror, the Nathrezim's jet black claws plunged into the human man's chest and ripped out his beating heart, squeezing it in front of him until it became nothing but shredded gore. As the human man dropped to the ground lifeless, the Nathrezim then took his own sharp claws and ripped out his own throat with them. Demon's blood spilled out everywhere as the Dreadlord's massive corpse fell next to his master.

 

Opening his eyes from where he had them closed in concentration, he observed the results of his handiwork. Then Sarvis went back to what he was doing annoyed once more at the interruption. It would take long enough to attract a Void god's attention as it stood. It wasn't like there were hundreds of them just waiting to be called upon. Fortunately, his was not the only collection of devotees that were engaged in this very same thing, and theirs was not the only plan being enacted to wrap the world in Shadow and beloved chaos.

 

The voices in his head approved of his work, and Sarvis was glad of it. They assured him that his Dark Lady would be pleased as well, and all of his people would return to the embrace of the Shadow where they belonged. He was glad for that. The Light shouldn't have interfered like it had. The Light had forced the Shadow's hand after all.

 

The balance had to be kept. The Light sought to envelop everything. The Void had to counter it by getting there first.

 

Soon, very soon, Azeroth would be enveloped by the Void, and then she would be consumed by it.

 

* * *

 

In the Sanctum of Light in Eastern Lordaeron...

 

The Highlord of the Silver Hand sat in a carved wooden pew facing the altar of the Sanctum's cathedral, hallowed by the interment of one of his order's most noble Champions. Pure, Holy Light shone down like a mist upon it always reminding him of his friend and predecessor's maxim, “The Light doesn't abandon its own.” Across the broad, carpeted aisle to his right sat a young blond haired man dressed as a Gilnean nobleman, though the Highlord would know his boyish face anywhere. The young man of the Priestly class had been given special dispensation to enter and remain within that sanctified space for the time being.

 

Surrounding him, lining the walls of the great church, were many images and statues of great Paladins that had come before him along with their actual tombs and crypts which hallowed this place's ground a thousand times and then some. Stained glass set into the sides and into the front of the Cathedral behind the altar somehow miraculously streamed Light into the underground sanctuary. Vines of living ivy drifted down from the ceiling, growing along golden fixtures. The Holy Light itself guarded and protected this place as it demonstrated when the Knights of the Ebon Blade inexplicably turned on them and attacked the holy place in the attempt to seize Highlord Fordring's body for some unholy purpose. It had been the Light defending its own that day that had stopped them and sent them fleeing.

 

At his side was a small book written by one of Jeshua's emissaries, a Night Elf man named Amerian. He had received it as a gift from Sylvanas Windrunner and Nathanos Marris after their summit with the Alliance leaders that he had hosted in the unassuming white chapel above the Paladins' hidden headquarters and sacred ground. It told of Jeshua's incredible story from the beginning when Amerian had met him until he had watched the man ascend into the sky disappearing in a blaze of glory. He had read this book from cover to cover being curious about the man who had so changed the lands and people around them for the Light. The story contained therein would have been almost unbelievable for fiction, except that he had personally met many eyewitnesses.

 

And the evidence for the resurrection of the town of Darrowshire lay two day's ride to the west of them. He had seen the town and its people himself, both before, when he was a much younger man newly consecrated to the Light traveling through the Eastern Plaguelands to fight the Scourge that remained, and after when he personally went with the relief caravans to see the drastic change that had come upon them even before the New Dawn.

 

The pretty little girl Pamela, so full of life, had come up to greet him on that visit telling her father, “Papa, it's the nice man who helped me find my doll!” He remembered searching for the pieces of the doll in the ruined town for the little phantom girl he just couldn't say no to. It had been going on twenty five years ago now, not long after the third war.

 

It had been hard to wrap his mind around it, but somehow, according to those who knew him best, Jeshua didn't just have a command of the Light as he and his brother and sister Paladins did. Jeshua _was_ the Holy Light somehow incarnated into a young human man to show the rest of them what the Holy Light was really like and to teach them what it really wanted from them, healing and bringing peace in a way the Highlord himself could only dream of.

 

There had also been the party of former Paladins who had come to Light's Hope Chapel less than two weeks before with the most amazing story he had ever heard. Durothian Rall and Katharine the Pure had been beside themselves explaining what had occurred to the former lord Grayson Shadowbreaker and his radical realignment of beliefs where Jeshua was concerned, contradicting every vicious thing he had ever said about the man. According to their report, it had been Jeshua himself who had knocked some sense into him the hard way.

 

It would have still been difficult to believe except that he felt the Light within him leading him to that same conclusion. The Highlord knew the Light as well as any Paladin or Holy Priest. It had been his friend, his shield, his hammer, and his first commitment, especially after the passing of his wife in the Outland during the Alliance's campaigns there.

 

In his bare right hand, his armored gauntlet removed and set to his other side, was a small photograph set into a locket he carried with him close to his breast. It was of a light brown haired attractive woman with bright green eyes and a smile that had always captured his heart. In the picture she wore the gilded steel armor emblazoned with the lion's crest of an Alliance Paladin. He had been from Stormwind and she had been a refugee from Lordaeron, a nobleman's daughter. He had loved her fiercely, and she him. She had loved him enough to take the Dreadlord's deadly strike, jumping in his way when he had been injured on the ground in the Hellfire Peninsula. She had fallen but not before removing the demon's head from its shoulders with her own blade. They had been found by Alliance search parties much later. He was still breathing. She was not, having died from her severe wounds.

 

They had only been married for two years. He had always wished the demon had taken him instead.

 

“I wish you could have seen the changes here, Adora.” He spoke to the locket. “I wish you could have seen what Jeshua did for Lordaeron and your people. You would have loved it.”

 

Like many of those fallen in that other dimensional world, her body had not been brought home, but had been buried in the ground there. He had no sarcophagus to lay flowers at here in the Sanctum of Light. All he had left was her picture.

 

There had been so many precious, good, and noble lives he had seen lost over the years.

 

On top of the book about Jeshua was another tract. It was only a few pages really, also written in human common by the same emissary, Amerian. This writing was brought to him earlier yesterday in the morning by a Sindorei Paladin woman that he had trusted with his life on more than one occasion during the Legion war. She had brought another one of Jeshua's human emissaries with her at the special request of Lordaeron's current queen, a man named Thaddeus Jude. She had also brought the young blond man he knew personally to be Anduin Wrynn, the presumed missing King of Stormwind. The Highlord had given both men, both of them intensely devoted to the Holy Light, special dispensation to enter the Paladin Sanctum as he once had done for the High Priest of the Conclave in extraordinary circumstances.

 

And these circumstances were more than extraordinary after Anduin had told his tale as well. He had come to speak with him personally, knowing that the Highlord had been one of the last people to communicate with Magni Bronzebeard. The young but capable human King had wanted to locate their mutual friend to verify the vision contained within the tract.

 

The Blood Elf Matriarch had been sent to escort both of them and relate also the event she witnessed which saw Alleria Windrunner exorcised of a Void possession by none other than Grayson Shadowbreaker, and this in the name and apparent power of Jeshua Lightborn as one of his emissaries! Lady Liadrin was not given to flights of fancy, her penchant for romance novels notwithstanding. More than this, she was not one to openly promote anything having to do with Night Elf religious beliefs. She was a capable warrior and sound tactician, and herself devoted to the Light “religiously” after its restoration in the Sunwell. If she had taken this new information so seriously as to bring the emissary directly to them, then so must he.

 

Both books taken together created a picture for him that he couldn't ignore, and couldn't remain on the fence about. Either he accepted what they both said, or he didn't. Either he would be the champion of the Light, or he would not.

 

And he could not accept the latter option.

 

The Light had been with him throughout his life. It had comforted and guided him after the death of his wife, and seen him through countless conflicts across several different worlds as he fought for its ideals and principles against the Scourge, the Burning Legion, and corrupt humans, Orcs, elves, Trolls on Azeroth, Draenor, the Outland, Argus, and even taking that fight to the Legion's own strongholds on half a dozen other planets somewhere out in the Great Dark. The Light and he had healed together, fought together, and it had been the one immoveable constant anchoring him in that constantly shifting world.

 

The Light itself drew him inexorably towards Jeshua Lightborn as his true liege lord.

 

The previous afternoon he had been paid another visit by another “old friend”, one whom he hadn't thought to see again if he was to be honest. Magni Bronzebeard had appeared at the entrance to the Chapel above them asking to speak with him, and the tale the diamond dwarf spun for him would have been unthinkable if not for the vision Elune had given Amerian. Anduin had joined them both for that meeting and they had all compared notes coming up with the same conclusion.

 _Azeroth is waking up, and there's only one way of surviving it._ He had come to realize.

 

And that had led him to the decision he had taken yesterday evening after he had sent a messenger back to Lordaeron City where he had been told Sylvanas Windrunner would be waiting for confirmation from Anduin on the veracity of the vision. Magni had then returned to Northrend to keep a monitor on Azeroth and listen if she had any more to say. Anduin had asked to remain and speak with the emissary himself whom the Highlord had also asked to remain.

 

It had also led to the decision made with not only Lady Liadrin, but the entire Council of the Silver Hand as it concerned all of them and the holy knights of every order throughout Azeroth. All of them would have to make a choice, either they supported and believed in Jeshua and took his pact, or they rejected the Light's message to them and thus the Holy Light itself. The time for sitting on the fence was over. He understood the implications of Amerian's vision very well, and what role the Order would need to play.

 

Over the course of the previous hours, Paladins from all across the world trickled into the sanctuary of the Sanctum of Light and took a seat in the pews, many assuming a position of prayer or meditation as they did so. Humans, Tauren Sunwalkers, Draenei Vindicators and Justicars, Dwarves, Sindorei Blood Knights, and the two Night Elves, Delas and Nerus Moonfang, who had sworn their alliegance to the Holy Light and whom he had personally consecrated as the first Paladins of their race. They all flowed in throughout the day by portal, gryphon, wind rider, and other more exotic personal mounts after the call had been sent out. The flightmasters on the surface must have been pulling their hair out with all the animals they had been given charge of that day.

 

The entire Order of the Silver Hand had received the Highlord's summons and had responded.

 

In front of him, on the face of the white stone altar at the top of the raised dais had been placed a large silver chalice which had been filled with a red wine by Jeshua's emissary. He had explained the fairly simple ritual and its purpose to him in detail. Lady Liadrin had also shared with him her experience of it as well.

 

Either the Order of the Silver Hand accepted Jeshua's pact or they did not, but each Paladin would have to make their decision here and now. They either followed where the Light led them, or they didn't. The future of the people of Azeroth depended on it, as did their own.

 

Outside the sunlight was fading and soon it would be time for him to address the mighty congregation which had gathered at his summons. He knew many of the faces he would see personally, having fought by their side at one time or another in the campaigns of the last twenty five or thirty years. He also knew that there would be faces that he would not see. Many of their brethren from Stormwind had rejected Jeshua outright due to the vicious verbal attacks on him there. Only Durothian, Katharine, Arthur, and those with them would be there present for certain. The rest? He hoped he would see some of them.

 

Briefly, he wondered if he would see Grayson Shadowbreaker once more, but it sounded like the Light had called him to a different vocation, one maybe more important than that of Paladin. He silently wished the man well as a squire made his way respectfully down the long aisle of the sanctuary and stopped next to his commander-in-chief.

 

“My lord, the sun has gone down.” The squire, a young dark haired human boy of sixteen wearing a silvered breastplate and mithril plate leggings informed him. The tabard of the Silver Hand adorned the young man's chest over the breastplate.

 

He knew his name, _Evan Mills_. His family had been minor nobility with small holdings in the Redridge Mountains before the Blackrock Orc clan overran them. He had just been given the new breastplate and greaves the week before to acclimate his muscles to the heavier armor a knight wore. Even now the Highlord could see the weight of the armor somewhat straining on the lad but he bore it well and without complaint. He had made a good choice in taking the lad in as his personal squire. He could see him taking his vows in only a few short years and joining the ranks of the Paladins of Azeroth.

 

And then he remembered that none of them had those few short years to spare any longer.

 

The Highlord nodded gravely, then instructed the boy himself to join the other squires in the back of the sanctuary. They too would be called upon to make their choice tonight.

 

The leader of the Order of the Silver Hand then stood up from the pew where he had sat contemplating what he would say for hours, praying as well that the Light would give him the words if this was truly its will. Never before had he imposed such a choice on these good men and women, but he himself had been left with little other option than to stay silent and ignore the impending threat.

 

He went to stand in front of the altar, took one knee in reverence and respect for a brief few seconds, then rose once more and turned to face his knights. Every seat in the pews appeared to be taken as he looked out on the sea of expectant faces, tauren sitting next to human sitting next to blood elf next to Draenei and all with the common devotion and faith in the sacred, Holy Light. It was such a beautiful thing to behold.

 

“Paladins of the Silver Hand, my brothers and sisters in the Holy Light,” he began to address them, “thank you for responding to summons. We have all fought together on many occasions regardless of our race or politics, side by side working to bring the Light to all of Azeroth and banish the Shadows that have threatened us. We have all fought together, bled together, laughed together, and grieved our fallen together no matter who we are or where we have come from. It is the Holy Light and our faith in the Holy Light which has bound us together as family.”

 

There were approving nods from many of the armored warriors who listened to him.

 

“And it is the Holy Light who has spoken to us directly, revealing itself over the course of this past year in the person of Jeshua Lightborn, whose death and self-resurrection is responsible for the great healing and transformation which has taken place in Azeroth which many of you have seen for yourselves and reported to us here in the Sanctum of Light. From the restoration of the Black Morass in the south to the cleansing and healing of the Plaguelands here in the north, from the resurrection of the long dead peoples of Darrowshire to the purging and healing of our fallen brothers and sisters among the Knights of the Ebon Blade, some of whom I see here among us now fully restored and cleansed by the power of the Holy Light through Jeshua Lightborn, there can be no further debate about the truth that this man has brought us, and the truth of who he is, the Holy Light itself incarnated among us as only the full power and glory of the Holy Light itself could have accomplished any of these things we have seen and heard done.”

 

He was met with thoughtful silence at his words as each of the knights before him wrestled with them, unable to contradict what he was saying. As he looked out, he saw the familiar faces of Thassarian and Darion Mograine, living, breathing, redeemed, and restored to the Light as Paladins by Jeshua's great gift, along with others from their former order. It was something he had never dared hope to see.

 

“The Council of the Silver Hand and I have come to realize that we can no longer remain neutral or ambivalent when the Light has spoken to us so plainly, pleading with us to follow the path it has shown us through this singular man. Either we follow where the Light leads us, or we do not. Either we are servants of the Holy Light or we are not. If we choose to serve the Light as we have all taken vows to do, then we must each of us recognize and follow Jeshua Lightborn. As many of our own have now discovered, to reject Jeshua is to reject the Holy Light to which we have sworn ourselves.”

 

He paused before he continued, allowing his meaning to sink in before he informed them of the “new developments”. There were several of the Paladins that appeared uncomfortable at his words, while others, most notably among the Draenei, nodded in agreement. Apparently, the Prophet Velen must have already spoken to his own people of the Lightborn.

 

“And here and now as Paladins we must renew our vows to the Holy Light and take them once more to its Message and Messenger, Jeshua Lightborn. I have yesterday received from two different, trustworthy sources that Azeroth, the Titan world soul of our planet, is waking. When she wakes fully, as I'm sure you are aware, the world which sustains us will break apart and all those still living on it will die.”

 

Gasps of shock rippled through the martial congregation. Murmuring and whispers ran among the seated crowd of evacuations to Outland or even to the alternate Draenor which had been discovered. Other spoke of trying to keep Azeroth asleep.

 

“From both sources I have been told this has been the Light's plan from the beginning of time. It is the will of the Holy Light that she wakes, and it is our duty as the sworn servants of the Light to ensure that nothing disrupts this.”

 

The sanctuary fell silent as they once more struggled with the truth of his words, weighing them against their own desire for survival.

 

“The Light has not abandoned us and never will.” He told his knights. “The Light has planned for this all along and made a way for this world's people to escape this. Before Jeshua left this world, he left behind a ritual. Similar to the Worgen's pact, Jeshua entrusted this to his emissaries to give freely to all who would come to him and make this pact with him.” The Highlord then gestured to the silver chalice which still sat on the surface of the altar. “In it we are joined to the Holy Light through him permanently, and through it, each person who makes this pact with him will be rescued when the time comes by the Light itself. We know firsthand that the Holy Light defends its own. Here, through Jeshua Lightborn, it is doing so once more.”

 

The Paladin lord then gestured to the plainly robed man standing to the side of the altar. He then approached the altar reverently and, taking the chalice, he prayed over it, placing his hand over the rim where a flash of bright, radiant light could be seen clearly passing between his hand and the contents.

 

As he did so, he spoke aloud to the assembled Paladins saying, “The night Jeshua was murdered, he took a cup of wine, prayed over it, and told all of us that it was his blood of the new pact he was making with us and as many of us as would drink from it. He told us to drink it to remember him.”

 

The man then sipped from the cup himself.

 

“As Highlord of the Order of the Silver Hand, I am choosing to take this cup and make this pact with Jeshua. I am drawing the line here and now because my orders for this summons are to take Jeshua's story, his teachings, and this cup of his pact back with you to your home cities and nations. As of right now, the Order of the Silver Hand serves Jeshua Lightborn.”

 

And with that, he accepted the offered chalice from the emissary and sipped from it himself. Then he offered it to the young king who had sat opposite him across the aisle, who also approached and took, sealing that pact he had already decided upon. Immediately afterwards the members of the Council of the Silver Hand rose from where they had been seated towards the front, and each and every one of them including the one Nathrezim among their ranks, Lothraxion a general of the Army of the Light, also sipped from the chalice.

 

As he did so he quoted the _Tome of Divinity_ , “The Holy Light is my shield and my strength, my salvation and hope in times of darkness and despair. If the Light is on my side, who can stand against me, if the Light is for me, of whom will I be afraid?”

 

As the heads of their individual orders all took their stand alongside the Highlord, the rest of the congregation was left with their own decision to make. There was silence and no movement among them for some time until a lone squire made the long walk from the back of the sanctuary, his own plate armor weighing down his young frame. He approached the altar and went down on one knee carefully so as not to lose his balance from the armor he wore.

 

“I will make this pact. I will serve the Holy Light by following Jeshua Lightborn, my lord.” Evan Mills declared soberly and with deep reverance, bowing his head to his superior.

 

With some pride in the young man for his courage to stand when his superiors still struggled, the Highlord gave the chalice to him and allowed him to sip from it.

 

After the boy, Darion Mograine stood, his expression humble but determined, followed by those Paladins restored from the undeath. As one, they left their seats and came to the front, taking one knee and drawing their swords in a display of fealty and obeisance.

 

“I so swear my honor and my life to the Holy Light through Jeshua Lightborn who redeemed me from my undeath and restored them both.” Lord Mograine intoned solemly, those former Death Knights making the same pledge before, one by one, they all sipped from the cup.

 

And then the Draenei members also stood almost as one and approached the altar. Each also took a knee, nodding with deep respect to the young squire who had been the first to answer his Highlord's call to service. “I so swear my loyalty to the Holy Light through Jeshua Lightborn.” Each man and woman of them proclaimed, following the young man's example. Each was given the cup in turns.

 

And then more came, one by one, each of them answering the call to serve as the Light demanded of them. Tauren, Elves, Humans, and Dwarves all approached and took the knee as a show of fealty and submission to both their Highlord and the Light to which they had already sworn their lives.

 

“My life belongs to the Light.” One man said. “I so swear to follow the Holy Light through Jeshua Lightborn.” Another repeated. Several drew their swords and hammers, swearing their allegiance to the Light upon them as they were given the cup to sip. All pledged their lives and their honor to the Holy Light once more as they took Jeshua's pact.

 

This went on for hours as each knight in the congregation came forward. In the end, when they understood what was being asked of them, none of those present had chosen to abstain. The Order of the Silver Hand had chosen its side.

 

When all had returned to their seats though remained on their feet, the Highlord addressed them one more time. “It is done then. We are all in agreement here tonight. The Silver Hand acts with one mind to save as many lives as we can from this impending 'apocalypse'. Our duty, our lives, and our sacred honor are bound to the Holy Light through Jeshua Lightborn. So we swear.”

 

“SO WE SWEAR!” Came the thunderous response.

 

The Highlord then drew his own massive warhammer and cried out, “The Light's will is clear! We take this message and this cup to the whole world! For the Light! For Jeshua! For Azeroth!”

 

With a thunderous unison which shook the whole earth above and beneath them, the Knights of the Silver Hand replied in like manner, raising their weapons and shouting, “FOR THE LIGHT! FOR JESHUA! FOR AZEROTH!”


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

 

In Stranglethorn Vale...

 

The air was hot and humid in the interior of the rainforest in the southern reaches of the Eastern Kingdoms, even at night. It made the troll priest's deep blue skin slick with sweat as he performed the ritual close to the heat of a brazier with emerald flames. His eyes closed as if in a trance, he continued to chant the words of the dark supplication. Around him were half a dozen others of his brethren, all dressed lightly in the native cloth, feathers, and skins which were traditional for their people. They all stood at points forming a circle along with the Warlocks, some Troll, some Orc, who had drawn the summoning runes around the fel fire which stood in the center of the circle.

 

They had chosen the walls of the old Troll ruins to perform their rites without interruption. All present knew that their less enlightened brothers and sisters in the Horde wouldn't understand what they were doing and would try to stop them, violently so. But the spirits were clear, this was the only way to prevent the catastrophe which they said was coming.

 

Overhead, the night sky was darkened and overcast, unnatural violet lightning flashed across the clouds violently. They had been calling on dark powers for well over an hour, and did not know how much longer it would take. But they would quit when they were finished and not before.

 

The dark spirits had made that clear to them too, the voices they heard pushing them and encouraging them that this was the only way. The spirits had become insistent and maniacal that such drastic measures had to be taken if they were to survive, and they the dark practitioners had to work together.

 

Suddenly, slowly, though he could not feel it, a tiny point of darkness surrounded by an amethyst glow emerged above the fire. The point of darkness expanded slowly, ripping a tear in the very fabric of space as they continued their chanting and concentration. The tear grew like an inky black puddle turned on its side until it consumed the brazier and everything in its way.

 

Sensing the encroaching Shadow, the Troll Shadow Priest opened his eyes to see the fruits of their labor. Around him, the others who had focused their efforts did the same, watching intently.

 

“Da Shadow, it comes now.” He said, watching.

 

Above them, thunder rumbled as the dark lightning flashed once more.

 

A figure emerged from the Void tear, an inky, semi-humanoid creature that radiated darkness. And then another one followed, and then another. The voidwalkers continued to come through the portal which had been so generously opened for them.

 

As they did, the Warlocks attempted to dominate them and bring them under their control, using their command of the fel energies to punish and discipline them into obedience. They had been told that they would need this army of darkness to beat back the encroachment of the Light and save Azeroth.

 

His eyes hardened, and his expression grim, with an evil smile the Troll nodded to his Shadow brothers. And then, without warning, each of the Shadow Priests present quickly drew sharp daggers and stabbed the surprised and outraged Warlocks. Exhausted from the effort expended, they were too slow to react and fell dead, their blood staining the hard packed dirt floor of the ruins.

 

And the minions of the Void continued to flow through the tear unchecked.

 

Similar scenes played out dozens of times over across the face of Azeroth as Void tears were opened in jungles, deserts, forests, caves, ancient temples and ruins, snowy mountains, and valleys around the world. The Void had no more time. It would make its final assault upon the sleeping Titan directly. Azeroth could not be allowed to awaken. She could not be allowed to continue to exist at all.

 

* * *

 

In Elwynn Forest...

 

The three men, a Paladin, a King, and a plainly robed emissary of Jeshua stepped out of the shining upright puddle of sapphire colored energy and set both booted and bare feet firmly in the soil of their birth. They had emerged in the woods just to the east of the main highway, and the paved road could be seen through the trees. It was in the afternoon, but the forest didn't have the warmth and cheer which the men had remembered, and the sun was overcast and couldn't be seen. Instead it felt gloomy and chill. It was the fourth day after Magni had come to deliver his warning and each was keenly aware of it.

 

An emotion passed through each one of them as they gazed on the woods, fields, and farms of their native country. The thatch roofed buildings of the town of Goldshire could be seen not far away from them to the south. To the north in the distance beyond the canopy of forest trees lay Stormwind City. An ominous gathering of unnaturally black storm clouds appeared in the sky over where they knew the city would be.

 

A single tear appeared in the eye of the Highlord of the Silver Hand. It had been many years since he had returned to the land of his birth. He wished it could have been under better circumstances. Next to him, Anduin Wrynn stood with a look of determination in his eye which was shared by Grayson Shadowbreaker, the last to emerge through the portal, whose eyes were turned towards the capital a look of apprehension in them.

 

Grayson had volunteered among his fellow emissaries to take a riding bat to the home of the Sanctum of Light from Lordaeron City with the intention of requesting the help of the Silver Hand for a very different purpose than his original requests had been. He arrived at Light's Hope Chapel after nearly a full day of flight only to find the order of holy knights mobilizing for the very same purpose he intended to ask of them as though an unseen hand was guiding them all to the same conclusion. He had not expected to find Thaddeus Jude there. There had been no word from Silvermoon City to Lordaeron when he left concerning the queen's response to Amerian's vision.

 

In truth, he had expected his presence to be distrusted and turned away by his former brothers until he could be given the chance to explain. Instead, his arrival had been brought to the Highlord's attention immediately, and he had been ushered into his presence at once. There he had met with Thaddeus who spoke up for him, and had already related the radical change that occurred within him to the Paladin leader and the way in which he had already proven his allegiances in Tranquillien. After messages had been sent back to Lordaeron coordinating their plans, remembering Jeshua's words to him, he had elected to return to Elwynn Forest along with the Highlord and the King.

 

The ground beneath their feet trembled slightly, reinforcing the urgency of their mission. Magni Bronzebeard hadn't known how long they had, but he didn't encourage them to take their time. A timetable of months or possibly even weeks did not appear to be in the cards for the people of Azeroth.

 

“Is it possible to ask her to delay it for as long as possible?” The Highlord had asked the crystallized dwarf, thinking about the scope and magnitude of the problem.

 

“Tha's like askin' a wee babe to hold off on bein' born, lad. She ain't got no control over it.” Had been his response.

 

“How long do we have?” The Paladin had questioned him. “Weeks, months, years?”

 

“The way she was talkin', I wouldna be makin' any plans for next week if I was you.” Magni had retorted, underscoring his point.

 

Many miles away, more human Paladins would be emerging through portals or arriving by flying mounts near the towns of Lakeshire to the east, Darkshire to the south, and the fortress of Sentinel Hill in Westfall to the west. The same would be occuring with their dwarven brothers in Dun Morogh, the Wetlands, Loch Modan, the Twilight Highlands and the Hinterlands. The Sindorei Blood Knights returned to Quel'thalas. The former Death Knights restored to the Light volunteered to head into Northrend. The Draenei Vindicators and Justicars went back to the Azuremyst Isles and also volunteered to travel to Pandaria, and the Sunwalkers to Mulgore and the Barrens. The Moonfangs, Delas and her uncle Nerus, would travel to Teldrassil and meet up with the emissary Syloren informing him of the situation and requesting his aide among the Kaldorei. Argent Crusade infantry Orcs, not Paladins but with noble hearts as though they were and who had witnessed Jeshua's teachings and power in Hearthglen, had traveled to the Alterac Valley where the Frostwolf Clan dwelt and also to Durotar, voluntarily obeying the Light's call to save as many of their people as possible. All had been given the power to consecrate the cup by Jeshua's emissary, Thaddeus Jude who had personally given Jeshua's gift to each and every one including the young squires of the order who had volunteered. They would be stretched thin across the world if they were to hit every settlement, town, and city, and every willing person was consecrated knowing the risk and the responsibility they bore. They all knew their mission, explain Jeshua's pact and Azeroth's awakening and offer the cup of the pact without prejudice to race, Class, creed, or politics. Don't force it on anyone, but make it available to everyone.

 

The Order of the Silver Hand had become an army of missionaries with an urgent message to the world. Every one of its members felt the tick of the clock with each passing minute and knew that time was running out.

 

“Good, we're closest to Goldshire.” Anduin said, taking stock of where they were. He looked towards his home in Stormwind first, but then his eyes drifted south to the visible rooftops and buildings, knowing that there were hundreds of people in the small provincial town. “We should head there first.”

 

“I don't like the look of that storm to the north. There's something unnatural about it.” The Highlord commented, his gaze turning towards the city. He had more than his fair share of experiences with powerful dark magic, many of which had almost claimed his life.

 

“None of this feels right, my lord.” Grayson told him. “The air itself feels wrong, like it wants to choke me even as I breathe it in.”

 

The three men began to move through the trees and onto the road. Thick inky shadows crept all around them as they moved around the brush of the forest floor. All three men had the distinct feeling that hostile eyes were on them even when they could see no one.

 

The Argent Crusade Mage which had opened the portal for them had tried to set them near Goldshire discreetly because of Anduin's presence. The King had not wanted to announce his return openly by appearing publicly in Stormwind just yet. He still did not know who had betrayed him and who he could trust there. Gossip and news from Stormwind usually found its way into the human village by way of the Lion's Pride Inn, the center of life in the hamlet, quickly, and Anduin wanted more information on what had happened since last he was in the city.

 

They stepped out onto the road and turned to face south towards the hamlet. Grayson couldn't help but notice that the dark shadows that watched them from the forest followed them unnaturally as they set foot on the highway, a cold malevolent feeling radiating off of them.

 

His own battle instincts alert, he warned the other two men, “Behind us.”

 

The young monarch turned to face what threat Grayson spoke of when the Highlord returned, gesturing to the road ahead of them, “Not just behind us, look.”

 

When the emissary turned to look, inky black shadows from the surrounding woods had coalesced and lifted themselves from the surfaces they had been on taking several burly and large, barely humanoid shapes as well as some that appeared small alien and perverse as they dragged themselves along the ground. More followed, streaming out from the surrounding darkness of the forest.

 

The Highlord drew his warhammer, preparing for the fight with the darkness, and Anduin drew his father's sword, Shalamayne from its leather wraps on his back holding it inexpertly in a two handed combat stance. The memory of such creatures of darkness came back to the Paladin lord from his campaign on Argus, and the chill, maddening feeling of unholy Shadow he encountered when he had been bidden to step through a rift and enter the Void itself to combat the horrors that lay within.

 

Grayson watched weaponless as the Void creatures came threateningly closer to them, and more followed behind them. He silently cursed himself for not at least taking a hammer or a sword from the Sanctum of Light's armory. He felt useless against such numbers without his armor and warhammer which had been a part of him since his youth.

 

 _There are too many!_ He thought. _Even if I had my hammer, we would be overrun!_

 

And then a familiar presence brushed calmly against his mind and heart.

 

 _Not by might, nor by strength of arms will you win this battle, but by my Light alone._ Jeshua's familiar, calm voice came to him even as his own battle instincts flared and he clenched his hands feeling for a weapon that wasn't there. _The true fight has never been against flesh and blood enemies you can strike with a hammer or sword. Darkness can only be destroyed by Light._

 

Grayson then looked to Anduin and the Paladin Highlord, each with weapon drawn towards the manifest shadow creatures. The King of Stormwind began to shine with the shield he had seen other Priests wield in battle, and the Highlord as well had called on the Light using the Paladin disciplines, his own presence radiating with it as it traveled into his warhammer, energizing it. They would be able to destroy some of their attackers between them using their respective disciplines, but not all. He did not know if they heard what he had, but if they did there was no sign of it in their eyes as the recognition of their predicament was seen clearly in them.

 

 _If I don't fight this battle for you, then you will all be overcome regardless of your combined strength._ Jeshua's voice came to him again.

 

“Hold!” Grayson cried out awkwardly to those with him, not certain of what else to say. “The fight belongs to the Holy Light! We can't win this with force of arms!”

 

Hesitating, Anduin and the Highlord drew back closer to Grayson until all three were standing back to back with one another as more of the Shadowy forms poured from the forest around them as though directed by some mind they could not see. Anduin's shield expanded to encompass all of them as the first of the creatures reached them and began pounding on it, burning themselves against the Light even as they threatened to drain Anduin's concentration in prayer.

 

“I can't keep this up for long!” Anduin shouted.

 

“My lord, whatever you're going to do...” Grayson began to say in a low voice, addressing neither of the two men at his back, but the Light which had spoken to him.

 

 _Let go and let me work through you once more Grayson, you and I together._ Jeshua's voice came to him again.

 

As he did in the meeting hall in Tranquillien, Grayson let go, silently affirming, _I am yours to command, my liege._

 

And then the King of Stormwind and the Paladin Highlord watched as Grayson then crouched down and put the open palm of his right hand against the paved ground of the road.

 

“What are you...?” Anduin asked as though a madness had taken over the man.

 

And then pure, Holy Light streamed from where Grayson's palm made contact with the earth beneath him. It wrapped itself around the three men like a hardened dome which could not be penetrated as it flowed into Anduin restoring and renewing the shield he had called on and magnifying it well beyond the King's own abilities and faith. From there, its glory radiated out across the road and deep into the forest beyond in an ever widening circumference among the trees and brush. Everywhere the Light went, Void creatures burst into golden white flames and dissolved into nothingness as the ground beneath them and beyond them was aggressively consecrated. The Light purged and cleansed everything it touched, radiating up from the surface of the ground and cleansing the very air around them as well until it was fresh and sweet.

 

Soon, the Void creatures which had surrounded them ceased to be until there was no trace of them left, and the Light faded once more from around them leaving the three men alone in the middle of the highway. Two of them stood as if stunned and unable to move at the sight of what had just occurred.

 

Grayson then stood from where he had been crouching with his hand against the ground and faced the other two men. For the briefest of moments, neither the King nor the Highlord appeared to recognize the former Paladin as they looked at him amazed and with a kind of awe. Neither of them knew what to say or how to address what they had seen.

 

And then that moment passed, and the Highlord, snapping back to the present, exclaimed to him, “Never have I seen any of our Order use the Light's consecration so powerfully.”

 

“It was nothing from me.” Grayson responded humbly, and then said, “Let's go. If the Void had this many of these things here just waiting for us, the people of Goldshire are in more immediate danger than we believed.”

 

But neither of the other two men moved as they continued to stare at him.

 

“How did you do that?” Anduin asked directly. “I have followed the Priestly discipline since I was a boy, trained under the Prophet Velen himself, and I have never seen such a command of the Light as this from anyone.”

 

“I told you, I did nothing. Jeshua asked me to surrender myself to him and I did as he said. I cooperated, but was almost as much of a spectator as you.” Grayson replied. “It had nothing to do with the magics I used as a Paladin. I did not command the Light, I willingly gave myself up to its will and it used me as it saw fit. If I had tried to exert my own will over the Light, it would not have been possible. I was a conduit, nothing more.”

 

Grayson didn't know if the other two men would understand his explanation. He didn't know if he understood it fully himself. He hadn't looked for it, and had actively worked against Jeshua before he had been chosen to work for him. All he could do was honor his oath and obey the will of the Light.

 

“We need to move.” The Highlord finally said, motioning with his hammer towards the village just south of them. “We came here to save as many as possible. We can discuss this more on the way.”

 

The other two men agreed and they started quickly for the village.

 

* * *

 

In Dolanaar of Teldrassil...

 

The great tree shook briefly beneath Syloren's bare lavender colored feet before it subsided again that evening. It was the third such tremor in the last two days of travel across the enchanted treetop world. Tremors in the earth beneath the elven world tree were always felt more keenly up in the enchanted land which rested high in its branches, but they had never before been this frequent in that corner of Azeroth.

 

The two elderly humans, Jacob and Martha Davidson had made good company for the former Demon Hunter upon his return “home”. He had called it home, but in truth, Dolanaar had been only just being built when he had left to follow Illidan's call. He had made his home there after the Legion's attack on Mount Hyjal along with his brother who argued vociferously against Syloren's leaving to follow the outcast Stormrage brother. Dolanaar was “home” because, as far as he knew, that was where his brother was.

 

His own people had called his former master “the Great Betrayer” for his radical views so not in keeping with the druidic ideology of the Kaldorei who had survived the Sundering. Syloren had followed him because he believed he understood what Illidan had. The Legion would stop at nothing to destroy Azeroth, and it would take those who would stop at nothing to save it even sacrificing their very souls if need be. He had made his pact and taken out his own eyes with the demon's flame believing that he could make a difference even if it meant his death, and had also done so believing that it would. What was his life or even soul worth if their world would be lost to the demonic host? In the end, Illidan and his Illidari had proved themselves against the Burning Legion until it was ground into the dust and Sargeras defeated once and for all, jailed for eternity by the Titans and watched over by the Demon Hunter's master.

 

Syloren miraculously had survived the war they had fought against an impossible enemy, and then found that in sacrificing everything to win that war and expecting to die, he had not been prepared to return home and live. It had only taken a few short years before the demon within him became uncontainable.

 

And then, just as he had given up his fight and the demon took over, the human Shan'do appeared and cleansed him, giving him back his life and restoring to him a peace he had not known for decades. He demanded nothing from the Night Elf and taught him a way of peace and compassion he had not known, ultimately proving that he too knew what it would take to win the war he was, in his own way, fighting.

 

There is no great victory without great sacrifice. Illidan had taught Syloren that. The human king, Varian Wrynn had understood that too when he gave his life to save as many of his troops as he could from the Broken Shore. Jeshua had shown that he understood it as well. From his risking his own life to purge the demon from him, to allowing himself to be captured by the Forsaken even knowing what they did to their human prisoners, to when Syloren's human Shan'do had allowed himself to be killed and placed into the ground like a seed meant to heal the whole world. He had won victory after victory, not for himself but for everyone else, by being willing to sacrifice himself and that had spoken to the Night Elf over and over again like no one since Illidan had.

 

Syloren had been glad to tell Shan'do Jeshua's story to his grandparents as they journeyed into Darnassus and then through to the main road that ran east through Teldrassil's insular world, hidden from most outsiders. They were good humored for humans, and marveled at what he told them.

 

When they had reached Dolanaar, he had initially told the two humans he was not certain how he would be received given how he and his brother had parted. They had not spoken for thirty years, and he had not attempted to travel to Dolanaar after the war; he only going as far as Darnassus before he realized he and his Illidari brothers and sisters were not truly welcome there any longer regardless of their sacrifices or contributions. They were regarded as “ticking time bombs” by most of Teldrassil's population, and not without justification.

 

“Keldamyr may not wish to see me.” He had told them. “We did not part well last we saw each other.”

 

The argument had been loud and angry, Syloren remembered. _Go! Follow that heretic and traitor if you want! I want no part of it or you!_ His brother's words had stung as he remembered them. He had stormed away in a rage and had not seen him since.

 

The human man, Jacob Davidson had looked at the tall Kaldorei man with a paternal smile and put his hand on his shoulder saying, “All brothers argue at some point. That doesn't make them any less family. You need to at least let him know you're okay. If I was him, I'd want to know anyways.”

 

“You are wise for one so young, Jacob Davidson.” Syloren had responded to him. This brought a laugh from the gray haired, wrinkled human.

 

Where Darnassus incorporated the ancient stone and marble structures of the Kaldorei along side the wooden arches and tile roofed architecture integrated into living trees, Dolanaar would have none of the reminders of the more “civilized” time in their history. It was a much smaller town marked by violet colored shingle roofed buildings integrated into the living forest around them. In keeping with the druidic philosophy which dominated Night Elf culture, nature ruled and thrived alongside the habitations. Tall trees could be seen with alcoves, porches, and ramps fluidly growing in harmony around the constructions. The largest structure, the inn and common house, sat at the base of a great tree, the roots of which had been shaped to form the pillers and foundations of the building.

 

He and the Davidsons ascended the ramp into the inn to inquire after his brother. The interior of the structure felt warm, earthy, and inviting even as it remained widely open to the outside air from the gabled entries. It did not carry the old, damp smell of dead wood and stone that many human and dwarven structures did. Instead it smelled of living things and carried the fragrant aroma of the tree which grew in symbiosis with it. Several townspeople, Kaldorei like himself, carried on with their business in the various corners of the inn, and several merchants stood behind a counter off to their left as he and the elderly humans entered.

 

After approaching and asking a merchant selling leather garments, he had been informed that Keldamyr was the name of the man who operated the inn and could be found checking the guests' sleeping loft at that moment. He then asked the two humans who had drawn a few quizzical but not unfriendly looks from the inn's patrons to wait there while he went to speak with him.

 

“It may be best if I spoke with my brother alone at first.” Syloren had told them.

 

“Of course, dear.” Martha Davidson had responded kindly. “You take all the time you need. We're not going anywhere.”

 

Syloren had then ascended the ramp up to the floor where several wooden frame beds had been placed, their cloth covered mattresses stuffed with owl feathers and tufts of fur. There were no separate rooms like in human inns. His people chose to live in harmony with the outdoors and with nature, and did not try to shield themselves from it or close themselves off from each other. The sleeping loft was empty except for a single Night Elf man who held a broom in his hands as he worked to sweep accumulated dust and dirt from the wooden floorboard.

 

The man was clean shaven but had Syloren's shade of emerald colored hair. He wore a short sleeved burgundy tunic covered in green leaves at the shoulders and a similarly colored kilt. Well worn sandals adorned the innkeeper's feet. Nearby on a stand sat a lantern glowing with a faerie light peculiar to his people's usage.

 

“Greetings, friend.” The innkeeper said as he heard Syloren's footfalls on the floorboards, though he did not turn around. “I'm almost done here and then the loft will be ready for use.”

 

Syloren hesitated before responding. He had thought of this moment many times in the last three decades and what he might say. Haltingly, he managed to say, “Greetings, brother.”

 

The innkeeper froze upon hearing his voice, the broom halting so suddenly that one might be forgiven for thinking it had been stunned with a spell. Keldamyr did not respond right away, but slowly stood up straight. It took several more seconds before he chose to turn around to confirm what he thought he had heard.

 

“Syloren?” Keldamyr asked, his broom still in his left hand. The expression on his face shifted several times, many emotions surfacing before being buried again to be replaced by new ones. “Is that really you?”

 

“It is.” Syloren responded.

 

“I thought you went to follow Illidan. I thought you became one of his 'Illidari'.” The man said as he gazed at his brother, but made no move to approach him. He used the term as though it were a dirty word. “I saw one of them in Darnassus not long ago, more demon than elf, but I don't see that in you now. More than one of them lost control and turned on our own people.”

 

“I was.” Syloren told him, his own expression saddened as his brother spoke. “It was the human Shan'do Jeshua who cleansed the demon from me. I am as you see me now, no more and no less.”

 

Keldamyr appeared to consider that, a skeptical look in his eyes. “Well, what are you doing here now?” He asked.

 

“I wanted to see you. I wanted to...” Syloren paused trying to collect his thoughts. “I wanted to let you know I was alive and whole before I moved on. I had hoped... I had hoped to at least try and reconcile, brother. I am sorry if I was mistaken to come. I won't trouble you any further if you don't wish to see me.”

 

His brother paused for a minute, looking down at the floor to collect his thoughts before responding.

 

“I heard about what the Illidari did during the war, how many of them died fighting to turn the tide.” Keldamyr then told him. “I heard that we might have lost if it weren't for them. I still don't think you should have gone chasing after the Betrayer, but I suppose what I heard he did too means maybe I didn't know everything I thought I did.” He then added, “I'm glad you didn't meet the same fate.”

 

Syloren nodded. “I lost many good friends to both the Legion and to the demon's blood. I didn't expect to live through it either, but that was the choice I made to fight for our world.”

 

The innkeeper didn't argue as Syloren might have expected.

 

“How long are you planning on staying this time?” Keldamyr then asked, his expression only softening slightly.

 

“In truth, I don't know. I had wanted to see you before continuing my new work here in Teldrassil.” He responded. “I have a new calling, brother. I seek to teach people about the ways of the human Shan'do, Jeshua Lightborn, the one responsible for the New Dawn.”

 

Keldamyr leaned over on his broom in thought, taking a deep breath and then sighing before he responded. “I have heard of this human. Not long ago he was found teaching heresy in Darnassus near the temple before the sentinels made him leave. You continue in your trend of chasing after those unwelcome among our people.”

 

“Perhaps.” Syloren conceded. “But it is because of him that I am able to stand here today and tell you this at all. I owe my life to him and so much more. It is only a small way to repay him by spreading his message.”

 

Keldamyr then took his broom and set it against one of the living walls of the sleeping loft and made to stand directly in front of his brother facing him and looking him in the eyes. Syloren did not know what to expect next from his words and body language.

 

“I misunderstood you before, brother, and misunderstood what you were trying to do. I am grateful to have the chance to tell you this, no matter who gave us that chance.” Keldamyr told him. And then the Night Elf innkeeper embraced his brother, drawing him tightly to himself. “I may not agree with you, but I do not want to make the same mistake again of not listening to you. I have learned to regret that mistake for thirty years. I do not want to regret it for thirty more.” He then told him. “You are welcome here in my home. I will listen to your words about this human Shan'do who cleansed you, but I cannot promise to agree with you.”

 

Stunned, Syloren almost didn't know how to respond, but then returned his brother's embrace saying, “Thank you. I have much to tell you.”

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

 

In Elwynn Forest...

 

The very air around the three men felt darker and more oppressive the closer to the small town they came. It felt stifling and cold, like the air in a tomb. The largest village in northern Elwynn Forest outside of Stormwind, Goldshire was the center of trade sitting at the heart of the main highways running east, west, and north. Every time Anduin Wrynn had visited the hamlet before it had always been bustling with life. Laughter and drunk singing could usually be heard from the Lion's Pride Inn all the way across the highway at most hours of the day. The blacksmith's workshop was usually aglow and the ringing of hammers could be heard frequently as Smith Argus sought to fill the orders given to him from around the kingdom. Children could be seen frequently playing tag, engaged in mock battles with wooden swords, or inspecting trader's carts and the market stalls belonging to local farmers who came to the town regularly to trade their crops. There was always a sense of homeliness about the village and a welcome for any travelers or adventurers that happened to be passing through. But there was no laughter as he set foot there now with his two companions. There was no warm glow from the workshop.

 

Anduin was still wearing the Gilnean nobleman's clothes given to him by Horus, Shalamayne rewrapped and held against his back. The Highlord's gilded plate armor clanked as he walked, the sound echoing farther than it should have. Grayson's simple Priest's robes provided little in the way of protection against the chill in the air.

 

Under their feet, the ground shook once more, rumbling audibly before subsiding again.

 

A boy with light brown hair sat on the ground next to the stone smithy. His white linen shirt was dirty, as were the khaki shorts he wore. The boy's blue eyes looked dead as they stared off into space, and tracks from tears could be seen running down his face, though they were now dry. Across the road in front of the Lion's Pride Inn, known throughout the kingdom for its ale and welcome hearth, a lone woman stood with a broom sweeping the entry way. A depressed and vacant expression on her face. There were a few dozen other denizens of the village out that afternoon. Several soldiers in the uniform armor of the Stormwind Patrol stood around the village center. They barely noticed the three men as they came in.

 

Anduin stopped in front of the boy, his natural empathy demanding he do no less, and made to kneel down to speak with him and extend a prayer of healing and consolation. But as he did, the child's eyes turned to the older man with the young king in golden Paladin's armor. A look of terror crossed the boy's face and he backed away from them quickly using his hands and buttocks, eventually getting to his feet and running off.

 

“What happened here?” Anduin asked as he got to his feet once more, watching the boy run from him towards a house behind the inn.

 

Behind him, Grayson Shadowbreaker gestured towards a large piece of parchment that had been tacked to the wall of the smithy. It looked like it had been there for several days, and it carried the seals of the Church of Light, the Council of Nobles, and the Stormwind Guard.

 

“What's this?” the emissary asked, tearing the parchment from the wall and reading through it.

 

As his did, his expression grew more serious and sober before he passed it on for inspection by the Highlord of the Silver Hand and Stormwind's king. Anduin's own expression grew stony as he read.

 

“They've blamed my disappearance on Jeshua's followers.” Anduin said, a quiet anger in his voice. “They've been arresting them on the Council's authority in my absence. What kind of madness has taken hold here? I would never have authorized this.”

 

The Highlord shook his head at it trying to understand it himself. “That isn't the Stormwind I fought for, your majesty.”

 

Anduin shook his head as well. “It isn't the Stormwind my father died for either.” He responded, the anger in his voice increasing.

 

“Over to the left side of the inn.” Grayson then informed the other two, gesturing discreetly with his chin and eyes.

 

The other two men then turned their eyes in the direction the emissary indicated. There, by the side of the wood and off white stucco of the inn was a thin human man with short dark hair, oily mustache, and goatee wearing robes that indicated he was a lower ranking Priest of the Cathedral's clergy. In his hand was a long staff which bore a red crystalline cross as its head. The man could be seen whispering something to one of the armored guards, but his eyes never left the three newcomers. Those eyes felt malevolent and sinister even from across the road.

 

“I don't like the look in the Priest's eyes. There's something wrong with him.” Grayson told them in a low voice.

 

“I agree.” Anduin responded as he observed him interacting with the guard.

 

The two men, the Priest and the armored guard, then marched directly and purposefully towards where Anduin, Grayson, and the Paladin Highlord had been standing. As they did, the guard unsheathed his sword from its scabbard at his side and drew his shield off of his back as though preparing for a fight. On his armor could be seen the insignia of rank indicating he was a guard captain in the Stormwind Patrol.

 

None of the three men they approached made any aggressive or suggestive moves in response, but as they approached, the Highlord called out, “Hail, friends. An... interesting day isn't it?”

 

Grayson couldn't help but feel a chill darkness radiate off the Priest as he drew nearer.

 

 _Remember, our fight is with the Void, not with flesh and blood._ Jeshua's voice came to Grayson once more as the two men came to stand a few feet in front of them. _They are just as much victims of its madness as they are its agents._

 

Grayson nodded visibly in response, though said nothing and allowed the Highlord to take the lead.

 

“I have not seen you three before. What is your business here in Goldshire?” The Priest asked directly, his tone of voice arrogant and authoritative.

 

The Highlord appeared to be carefully considering his answer when Anduin then spoke and demanded, “Since when do Cathedral Priests interrogate travelers to Goldshire?”

 

“Since his majesty went missing courtesy of the followers of Jeshua the heretic, as you have obviously read.” The Priest responded, gesturing at the parchment which the three men let fall to the ground, obviously irritated by the challenge to his presumed authority. “Likewise you should know that any removal of these posters is punishable by imprisonment in Stormwind's Stockades.”

 

If he had expected to elicit a reaction of fear from the three men, he was met with disappointment as they each gave him a hard stare instead.

 

“I don't think so.” Anduin responded, his voice regal and authoritative as though giving an order. “Not today, and not ever again.”

 

Expecting a fight, the Priest then took a step back from them as did the Patrol guard who called to his fellow soldiers around the village. Four more came running up in their armor, swords drawn to stand next to him ready to arrest the three troublemakers. When they did, those other people who had been in the village turned to see what was happening.

 

“Just who do you think you are defying the orders of the Council?” The Priest asked, mockingly.

 

“Anduin Llane Wrynn, King of Stormwind.” The young monarch replied, holding up his right hand to display his royal signet ring plainly for the guards and the Priest to see.

 

The guards backed away uncertainly, recognizing the lion's head crest on the large ring but briefly hesitating as to what to do. Then each dropped to one knee in front of their sovereign laying their swords on the ground in submission. Fear crossed the Priest's face as he too backed up. He then closed his eyes, seeming to concentrate hard on something.

 

A crowd began to gather nearby as people realized the three men were defying the will of the Cathedral Priest. Hopeful expressions appeared on dejected faces.

 

Grayson felt the briefest touch of something Shadowy and malevolent against his mind before a wall of Light went up. As he looked to the Highlord, it seemed that he too noticed something. The feeling continued to pound against his mind, but to no avail. The darkness couldn't penetrate.

 

In panicked surprise, the Priest's eyes flew open. “Liar! Imposter!” He cried out. “Guards! Get to your feet, this man can't be the king! Draw your swords and strike them down!”

 

As if in a daze, the guards slowly obeyed rising to their feet. Only their eyes could be seen through the slits in their helmets, and these appeared vacant and unfocused.

 

Grayson Shadowbreaker then stepped forward and said, “Enough. Release them!”

 

The Cathedral Priest looked as if he had been physically struck, his head jerking to the side as he stumbled. The effect on the guards was immediate, snapping them out of the trance they had appeared to be in. They looked confused as though they didn't know what to do. Helmeted heads turned from the Priest to Grayson to Anduin and back. Then the man who had marched up with the Priest stood at attention and saluted Anduin with his sword, but backed away from all of them and called his fellow guards to do the same.

 

Anduin understood. The patrolmen were out of their depth and they knew it. This wasn't a battle they could fight with a sword and shield.

 

The Cathedral Priest then glared at Grayson and, pointing at him, shouted to all listening, “This man is one of Jeshua's followers! Kill him or he will ensnare you all in his lies!”

 

No one moved in response to the Priest's call. He was met with stony silence.

 

“Be quiet!” Grayson then shouted at the Priest. “You will not speak again, Void slave!”

 

The Priest attempted to respond but when he opened his mouth, no sound would come out. Terror entered his eyes as he backed up further from the emissary and towards the crowd of people that had gathered around him. But if he had thought to take refuge among them, that hope was quickly dashed as murmurs and uncertain nods of approval at Grayson's words were heard.

 

The former Paladin then took on a soft golden glow of pure Light and began to speak to the people who had gathered, and those who still dared to venture out of their doorways to see what was happening.

 

“People of Goldshire!” Grayson called their attention loudly and boldly, speaking from a place deeper than his heart. “It is true, I am a servant of Jeshua Lightborn through whom the Holy Light worked healing wonders the likes of which have never been seen on this world or any other. The Holy Light sent this man to be a savior for all the children of Azeroth! Through him all the Forsaken have been restored to life! Through him, the Demon Hunters have been cleansed, and the Death Knights have been purified! Through him, the whole world has received healing and now groans in birth pains as it waits anxiously to reveal the paradise which the Light has prepared for everyone who believes the message the Light has given us through him and accepts the cup of his new pact! The tremors you have been feeling are the titan Azeroth beginning to wake from her long sleep! The time has come to choose the Holy Light and be rescued from the destruction of this old world, or to be destroyed along with it! We have come to bring you this pact so that you too may accept it and be saved from what is to come!”

 

Uncertainty and looks of fear reigned across the expressions of the people of the village at his words. Grayson then realized they didn't know what to believe for themselves.

 

Then a woman shouted from among the people, “They took Marshall Dughan for refusin' to renounce Jeshua! He said the king had said plainly that Jeshua was the real thing and that was good enough for him! He said the king had sent out letters to all his governors! They took old Farley and William Pestle for the same!” Grayson then saw that it was the woman who had been sweeping the inn's entryway.

 

It was true. Along with the posters Anduin had ordered put up in Stormwind he had sent signed letters to all of his kingdom's local magistrates. A feeling of both grief and gratitude for the good Marshall at his loyalty welled up within Anduin.

 

“I am King Anduin Wrynn!” Anduin called out to the crowd, once more holding up his signet ring for all to see. He then drew his father's sword, Shalamayne, once more from its leather wrappings at his back and held it up for the crowd to see as well. The glowing orb of golden Light shone brightly and fiercely as he did. “Look! This is Shalamayne, the sword of my father, King Varian Wrynn who sacrificed his life so that we might have victory against the Burning Legion!”

 

The crowd of people looked on the sword and as they did, it was as if a spell began to lift from them and they looked on the three newcomers with a kind of recognition that hadn't been their before.

 

“Your majesty?” An older man asked as though just seeing him for the first time. Slowly, he dropped to one knee where he stood. Taking their lead from the elderly gentleman, the rest of the crowd followed suit one by one.

 

“I sent those letters to my magistrates because I saw the truth of who Jeshua was and what he had done with my own eyes!” Anduin continued addressing them. “What this man has told you is the truth! Jeshua Lightborn came to redeem Azeroth and save us all through the holy pact he made with us! Azeroth will fully wake soon and nothing can stop it! The choice we are given is clear, either take Jeshua's pact which we have come to bring to you, or be destroyed!”

 

The Priest of the Cathedral, who had backed away from both the crowd and the three men who had challenged him, then began to thrash and cry out with a gutteral sound that no human mouth could make. The sounds coming from the man drew everyone's attention as his form became enveloped in inky black darkness and his eyes, previously brown irises on white orbs became a demonic solid black. Shadows warped and twisted around him into something that barely resembled a human being.

 

Around the people, more shadows began to lift themselves from around the buildings and dark spaces where the feeble sunlight failed to reach. These too began to take vile, monstrous shapes, surrounding the villagers. Screams were heard from the crowd and several of the townspeople looked to run in any direction they could to get away from the unnatural darkness, but they couldn't. There was no path away from them. The Priest's human form soon became lost in the inky darkness as the shadows surrounding him coalesced into a huge demonic form of pure Shadow and Void encapsulating him.

 

“NOOO!” The creature, radiating pure malevolence, shouted in defiance. “I will consume you all! Azeroth will die stillborn in my darkness!”

 

The Highlord, recognizing the creature for what it was, once more drew his warhammer from its harness at his back, and Anduin brandished Shalamayne, calling on the Light's power to shield, not himself or his companions, but the vulnerable townspeople.

 

Immediately, a dome of pure golden Light enveloped the crowd of innocent people threatened by the twisted Shadows.

 

Grayson should have felt fear in the presence of the void lord. He had encountered one once years before in the Outland and had never wanted to repeat the experience. He had barely escaped with his life, and had lost his right eye in the battle to banish it, calling on the Light's holiness to destroy the evil thing.

 

But he didn't. Instead, he heard the quiet voice of his new liege lord addressing his heart as well as his mind. _What is darkness but the absence of Light, Grayson? Walk in my Light and bring Light to his darkness. The man is not our enemy._

 

Then, without weapon, armor, or even shoes, to the utter astonishment of all present, Grayson walked towards the void monstrosity with a hard determination in his expression. The Holy Light flared around him, and it began to radiate out around him so that everywhere the Light touched, the blackened void creatures fled.

 

“You can't stop it! The Void is eternal” The void lord shouted. “You cannot save any of them from the Void's wrath! She will die and the Light will die with her!”

 

It then lashed out at Grayson, a tendril of Void energies striking towards him. Grayson made no move to get out of the way or avoid it but continued his advance. The tendril of darkness struck him and then was engulfed in white gold flames of holy fire and the void lord screamed in pain.

 

Grayson then reached out, ablaze with the Holy Light, and touched the Void's darkness with his Light filled hands. As he did, the shadows began to burn. He plunged his hands deep into the creature until he reached the flesh of the human being trapped within it and touched him.

 

“Jeshua Lightborn frees you from the darkness, friend.” Grayson then said aloud.

 

The Light radiating off of him grew stronger and brighter as it surged into the interior of the void lord, burning it from the inside out and purging it. White, radiant, purifying flames consumed the creature until it lit up like the sun and then vaporized until there was only the form of the human Priest left, who then collapsed unconscious to the ground.

 

Then Grayson placed his palm to the ground once more and the Light surged into it, radiating out across the ground of the village, catching the fleeing shadow creatures and destroying them in its wake as it did on the road only hours before.

 

The Light streaming across the ground also surrounded the unconscious Priest gently where he lay on the ground, and soon his eyes opened and he was awake. He sat up and looked around the village, at the crowd of people protected by the shield of Holy Light, and the blazing radiance that surrounded Grayson as the Light surged through and around him.

 

“I...” The Priest was stunned and awestruck at the sight. “I thought the Light had abandoned us. I... I thought... How are you doing this?”

 

But Grayson didn't respond, his own eyes closed as though hearing another voice entirely. The Light continued its cleansing purge until the Shadow was completely eradicated from the village. Then it began to fade again, leaving the village purified. The emissary then opened his eyes, nodding as though responding to something only he heard. He then looked at the man on the ground who stared at him with fear and trembling.

 

When Grayson had removed his hand from the ground, he then offered it to the Priest who took it as Grayson helped him up to his feet. “The Light doesn't abandon anyone, least of all its own. but that doesn't mean we can't turn away from it ourselves, even in ignorance.” Grayson then responded to his question. “Jeshua Lightborn redeemed you from the hold the Void had on you. Don't make the mistake of turning to the Shadow again.” He warned him. “Accept Jeshua's pact and be saved from it.”

 

The Priest, shaking from what had just happened, nodded soberly.

 

At that moment, the Highlord took a small burlap sack he had been carrying and from it removed a large silver chalice. He stepped forward in his armor and showed it to the people saying, “You have all now seen the truth of what we are saying for yourselves! All of these things which you have seen here have been done through Jeshua Lightborn. Go! Ride if you can! Call your families! Call everyone you can to come and receive Jeshua's pact here in Goldshire! Your lives and theirs depend on it!”

 

Many in the crowd, surprised and stunned what they had just witnessed nodded in agreement and began to move heading into the inn, towards the houses and farms which surrounded the village. Some jumped on gryphons roosting with the nearby flightmaster to fly east towards the logging camp at Eastvale, and north towards the Abbey at Northshire to inform those there of what had happened. It could take hours on foot before those who had gone would return with their loved ones, the Highlord estimated, but they would wait to offer the cup to as many people as possible.

 

A few remained frozen where they were, trying to comprehend what had just occurred and unable to. The Highlord understood why. They weren't hardened warriors or adventurers. They hadn't seen the things he and his companions had in the world. They were just ordinary folk for whom such experiences were tales told them for amusement in the inn. Rarely had the reality of such powerful forces existing on Azeroth come home to there where they lived and worked except as magic tricks by traveling Mages to entertain. It was something more of a wonder that so many in the village had the wherewithal after what they had seen to move at all.

 

The patrol guards who had backed away had also watched the whole thing unfold in front of them. When it had cleared, they too answered the Highlord's call, approaching Anduin once more and kneeling before him. Their captain then asked as he knelt, “Your majesty, what can we do to help?”

 

Anduin thought quickly, then he said, “Ride to the barracks at Westbrook and summon as many of the men there as you can to return here to Goldshire. Tell them everything you have seen and heard here. Tell them their king is waiting. Go!”

 

“Yes, your majesty! At once!” The patrol guard responded. The men saluted their monarch and then were off, racing to their barded horses which stood grazing not far from the inn.

 

“Your majesty!” Grayson then approached Anduin as well, the Cathedral Priest in tow. “This man has something you need to hear.”

 

Anduin turned his attention to the man's shame filled eyes. “What is it?” He asked.

 

“There's something you need to know, your majesty. In the Cathedral, what we've done in the Cathedral.” He exclaimed. “We thought the Light had completely forsaken us. We thought there had only been the Shadow to turn to. It spoke to us in our heads, the voices, we couldn't drown them out. Oh, gods, what we've done... What it made us do...”

 

The Priest's words became more ominous and more frantic as he spoke.

 

“What have you done?” Anduin asked, his own voice apprehensive at the Priest's defensive manner. “What is happening in the Cathedral?”

 

“The Void called to us... told us we had to...” The Priest said again, fear in his expression.

 

“What did you do?” Anduin asked again.

 

“A Void god is coming, your majesty.” Grayson then spoke for the man who couldn't seem to get the words out. “The Priests in the Cathedral are trying to summon one.”

 

“It said she had to die! It said it was the only way we could save ourselves from her!” The Priest then exclaimed.

 

Anduin then reached out a hand to touch the man's shoulder in an encouraging way, and then he prayed, calling on the Light to comfort him, strengthen him, and restore what was left of the man's mind to him. Warm, healing Light flowed from Anduin into the man and a look of overwhelming peace and calm crossed his features as the Light took hold and stabilized his mind.

 

Looking at him then with compassion in his eyes, the king asked, “Better?”

 

“Yes.” The Priest responded. “Thank you, your majesty.”

 

“Now, tell me everything you know about this summoning.” Anduin then instructed him. “What is happening in my city?”


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

 

In Orgimmar...

 

The alarm ran throughout the darkened Orc city, punctuated by the screams of the dying echoing across canyon walls, “We're under attack!”

 

Everywhere, green skinned, ivory tusked Orc warriors, both men and women, grabbed sharp, wicked looking battle axes, spears, heavy hammers, small hand cannons, and anything else within reach they could turn into a weapon in response to the unnatural intruders. They were joined by azure skinned Trolls, ten foot Tauren warriors, and every other resident and denizen of the Horde capital of Orgrimmar. Warriors of every discipline, wakened by the cry, poured out of Orgrimmar's savage looking, blood colored, spiked buildings to meet this new threat on their feet as the proud warriors they were, to stand or die with their honor intact.

 

“FOR THE HORDE!!!” The battle cry went up as those warriors charged at vile shapes of Shadowy darkness, and sharp, well used axes and swords slashed at tendrils of Void that rose up from the ground beneath them to grab and paralyze them. Flashes of lightning leaped from the fingertips of shaman towards their foes. Well aimed arrows and bullets flew towards their black tar like targets.

 

The Void creatures rose up and attacked in the middle of the Durotar night as most of the city war sleeping except for those guards patroling the streets and those for whom the night was their most active time. Inky, black tentacled obscenities, alien in appearance seemed to come from nowhere out of the darkness of the caverns of the city as the Shadows came alive. They struck at unsuspecting Mages, Rogues, and other practitioners of the disciplines the Orcs considered less than honorable and had relegated to the Cleft of Shadows; the natural cavern deep within and beneath the stone of the city's canyon walls. The Void fissure which spawned them had been hidden from all still deeper within the abandoned cavern beneath the city known as Ragefire Chasm, unknown to everyone until it was too late. The cries of the dying alerted the guards outside the cavern in the cleft known to everyone as “the Drag.”

 

In the middle of the chaos, within the upper loft of the Broken Tusk inn, more than a dozen Orcs in heavy plate armor wearing the white and grey star burst tabard of the Argent Crusade responded to the call to arms, unslinging their own heavy and powerful hammers and double bladed battle axes. Tharok had arrived with his other Orc brothers earlier in the evening by portal from Light's Hope Chapel. It had been his intention to seek out Supreme Lord Saurfang and address him and the other leaders of his people in Grommash Hold, but the proper time for audiences was over by then, he was not of high enough rank or reputation among his own people to impetuously enter and demand an audience with him without answering for it with his head.

 

Born into the Frostwolf Clan in Alterac Valley not long after the second war, the braided black haired Orc had fought alongside the likes of Highlord Tirion Fordring and Lord Maxwell Tyrosus in Icecrown during the Northrend campaign, and had shed blood with Elven, human, Tauren, and Dwarven brothers in arms alike against the Scourge forces again and again. But he had fought under the flag of the apolitical Argent Crusade rather than that of the Horde. His clan had repudiated the call of the Horde when it had allied itself with the unholy, undead Forsaken, but when the Argent Crusade had been formed under the human Tirion Fordring, a human known to them to be honorable and without prejudice, Tharok had joined them feeling their cause was more noble and more worthy of his ax.

 

All of the warriors had been stationed at Hearthglen when Jeshua healed and taught. Tharok had listened to what the human teacher had to say and it had spoken to him like few others did. He had been an eyewitness of the man's healing power again and again, and had taken his words to heart. He had walked by “The Teacher's House” when on patrol, noticing the soft golden glow of Holy Light which had radiated off of it. When they had told him what the teacher had done to heal the world, he did not doubt it. He would have expected no less from the young human who never seemed to take any thought for himself or his own well being. There was a courage and an honor about him that seemed almost “orcish” to the warrior. He had been the first among those Orc warriors to respond to the Highlord's summons when it reached Hearthglen, though not one of the Paladins, and he had been one of the first to receive the cup when it had been offered to those not consecrated as holy knights. He came to Orgrimmar bearing a silver chalice in his waist pack, and a message to their people.

 

In spite of the weight of their armor, with a great battle cry Tharok and his men leaped from the second floor of the inn into the open air of its center landing hard on its ground floor, splintering the wooden floorboards as they did, and rushed out the door to meet their enemy. Neither the innkeeper, Gryshka, nor the barkeep, Morag, said anything. They had already grabbed their own weapons and were already in the streets putting them to good use.

 

Outside the inn, darkness was everywhere. The sky overhead held no stars, and only dark, violet lightning across even darker clouds gave any illumination other than the fires lit in braziers and torches around the Orc stronghold. The shadows of the night around them appeared to have risen up taking grotesque, unnatural forms that Tharok had seen before in Northrend and had hoped to never see again. Orcs fought against blackened creatures almost indistinguishable from the night itself.

 

The smell of smoke filled the air as Tharok turned to see what looked to be a shop building south of the Broken Tusk catch fire and begin to burn. The flames however produced no good light to see by, but were like the lightning above, violet, dark, and evil looking. His ears however could hear the fire lick against the wood of the structure, consuming it hungrily. His first thought had been to run towards it to see if there was anyone in it. As he ran towards it, he heard the walls of the building crack, and then they collapsed inwards, and the sound of the flames became a roar as the shop was consumed. Seeing there was nothing more he could do, he hoped that if anyone had been in it they too had answered the city's call to arms and been out of it. He then turned his attention back to the Void invaders.

 

Tharok chose his first target at random, a huge monstrosity of darkness with tentacles and two apparent legs. He roared a challenge at it and charged it, leaping with his ax to bring it down on the void creature's head, wherever that might have been. Landing solidly on his feet, he brought his ax around, swinging at the creature's torso with all his strength intending to cleave it in two and send it back to the abyss from which it was spawned.

 

The creature responded with a powerful tentacle of void energy lashing out at him and striking him across the back plate of his armor viciously, throwing him a good distance onto his chest and knocking the wind from the Orc.

 

“Is that the best you can do, monster?!” Tharok growled, getting up with his ax and charging at it again, driving the edge of his blade into the creature's midsection yet again, pulling it away then to come around for another killing stroke like a graceful, lethal dance he had practiced many times, his massive Orc muscles giving ample power to the blow.

 

And then he saw the wound he had made in the creature repair itself, sealing up as though he had made no mark whatsoever. Around him, he then saw the same with his comrades and Orgrimmar's other defenders. Good warriors lay wounded, paralyzed, or dead on the ground, but there were no fallen invaders.

 

“What kind of evil is this?” He asked aloud. “How can we defeat such an enemy?”

 

 _The battle belongs to the Light._ He heard a voice. It sounded familiar, and he turned one way and then the other looking for the source but could see no one addressing him.

 

In front of him, the creature lashed out again with a tentacle and Tharok responded quickly, severing the limb from its host then watching in frustration and anger as it regrew, and the thing came at him again.

 

 _The battle belongs to the Light, Tharok! Only true Light can drive out the darkness!_ The voice spoke to him again. And the second time, he recognized it.

 

“Teacher?” He asked aloud as he avoided another lashing by the void monster in front of him. The creature howled an unnatural, terrifying cry at him which made him want to panic and run, but he held his ground, his Orc stubbornness refusing to budge.

 

 _Trust me, Tharok! You can't win this with your ax alone! Let my Light be your ax and your armor or this darkness will consume you all!_ Jeshua's voice came to him again.

 

Tharok considered this quickly as he swung once more, making contact only to see the deep wound heal again without a mark.

 

“Whatever, you're going to do, Teacher, I pray then that you do it!” Tharok responded. “My ax is yours to command!”

 

 _Together then, my warrior!_ Jeshua's voice responded.

 

“Together, Teacher!” Tharok shouted in agreement.

 

And then the Orc warrior felt a warmth, calmness, and quiet, joyous power flow into him like he had never experienced. In the darkness his armor and ax began to glow with a pure, white Light that shone like a beacon in the enveloping, living night.

 

The creature he had been fighting then backed away from him as though in pain at the brightness. Filled with an energy he hadn't ever known, the Orc then pressed his attack, screaming, “For the Light!” He leaped once more, bringing the blade of his ax, blazing with the Holy Light, down on the creature's head. As the blade's edge made contact, the creature's body burst into flames where it rendered it in two. The ax cut a path through the monster like fire through ice, and the shadow creature was consumed by the holy fires of the Light.

 

“THE BATTLE BELONGS TO THE LIGHT, MY BROTHERS!” Tharok cried out to his brothers in arms of his discovery. “Call on the Teacher! Call on the Holy Light! He will answer you!”

 

And then, both with and beyond his volition, Tharok slammed his fist into the hard packed dirt ground of Orgrimmar as if to dramatically emphasize his point. Where it struck, pure streams of Light shot out across the ground, consecrating it and setting those void creatures caught in its path ablaze until they ceased to be. Around him, those fallen and mortally wounded defenders began to heal and rise from where they fell wherever the Light touched them.

 

Around him, he heard his fell Argent Crusade warriors cry out, “For the Light! For the Teacher!”

 

And then the streets of Orgrimmar lit up with pure radiant Light as those dozen or so Crusade warriors called on the Holy Light to defeat the unholy monsters of the Void which had attacked the Horde capital. With renewed vigor, they slammed into the creatures that had escaped the first wave of holy consecration, purging them with holy flames and their Light filled weapons.

 

Tharok battled his way towards the entry of Grommash Hold where a handful of defenders were still standing but injured and exhausted from the seemingly unstoppable Void enemies. Among them was a gray haired orc in fearsome, spiked, blood red plate armor, a fanged skull adorning his waistplate. His own battle ax, forged to resemble a human skull joining the two blades in the center, continued to swing hard at his void foes. The twin warrior's braids of his hoary head lashed back and forth like whips as he laid into the inky nightmares with all the vicious ferocity he could muster for attacking his kith and kin. But he too could not help but notice the futility of it as his enemy grew no weaker, even as his own strength waned with every continued stroke.

 

Raising his battle cry once more, Tharok leaped into the fight in front of him, striking the alien tentacled creatures, and setting them ablaze with his Light filled ax. His ax swung, and wherever it touched, darkness dissolved in holy flames. His armored fist struck, and the impact produced bursts of pure radiant glory. He roared triumphantly at the dark creatures and they fled from before the Holy Light which shone from his armor.

 

Varok Saurfang, seeing his immediate foes destroyed, sank to one knee in exhaustion. Bloody red marks stained the green skin of his aged face. Tharok, unsure of why, approached him and laid his left hand on his shoulder. As he did, a warm, peaceful, healing energy passed through and into the Orc leader. A renewed energy filled him, and the visible wounds on his face healed quickly within seconds.

 

“Your timing couldn't have been better, Sunwalker.” Saurfang said before he caught a better look at the warrior. When he did, his eyes went wide, “Never have I seen one of our own bear the powers of a Paladin before.”

 

“I am no Paladin, my lord.” Tharok responded, helping the supreme lord to his feet.

 

“Could've fooled me.” Saurfang replied gruffly, then seeing Tharok's companions nearby charge the void monsters once more alongside warrior the Orc leader had seen fall. “Whoever you are, you will have my thanks and the thanks of Orgrimmar should we all live through this. It's like the blackest night has come alive to destroy us.”

 

“My lord, we were sent by the Highlord of the Silver Hand to deliver Jeshua's message to our people, and to offer the cup of his pact to anyone who wants it.” Tharok then told him.

 

“The Warchief sent me word someone would be coming.” Saurfang responded. “Along with a strange written Night Elf hallucination about the end of the world.”

 

“It is no hallucination. It is happening.” Tharok then told him, gesturing with his armored gauntlet towards the raging battle. Not far from him, his brother warriors continued their Light born assault against the darkness. “There is only one way of escape.”

 

“Sent from the Highlord, wielding Holy Light like a warhammer, and yet not Paladins.” Saurfang remarked at the sight. “I have seen stranger things in my time, but not many. Maybe the Light knows something you don't, warrior.”

 

“It is the Teacher Jeshua who gave us this power to fight the darkness.” Tharok replied to him.

 

Grunting in acknowledgment, but with a respectful look in his eyes at the mention of Jeshua's name, he gripping his battle ax tightly in one hand. Then Saurfang replied, “You and your men help me drive this void infestation from this city, and I swear to you I'll be the first to drink our victory from this cup!”

 

Then the older Orc shouted loudly in challenge, “FOR THE HORDE!!!” And leaped once more against the creatures of darkness.

 

Within himself, he heard the Teacher's voice once more, _You heard the man, bring my Light to your people!_

 

“At your command, Teacher.” Tharok responded, and then filled with the Holy Light, he too charged into the melee of darkness once more, flashing radiant Light with every stroke of his ax.

 

* * *

 

In Elwynn Forest...

 

The unnatural storm of darkness over the human capital flashed the dark, violet lightning continuously as it radiated out from a central axis above the city's heart. What was more, it appeared to have grown in the hours Grayson, Anduin, and the Highlord had spent in Goldshire with the hamlet's people and all those brought from the farms and homes surrounding it. Its arms extended out now past the city's fortified walls and well over the forests and highways of Elwynn, plunging it into an unnaturally dark night. The stars could not be seen, and neither could Elune give her gentle light even though the men knew the White Lady should have been full.

 

They had waited, lighting torches, candles, and lanterns to bring more light to the village center. While they waited, they taught the people who arrived what they could and what they knew of Jeshua. They used the emissary's book that the Highlord had brought with him and recalled from their own experiences. They did this for several hours until everyone who had gone off had returned either with or without those they went to bring. Those from the houses around the town came first, followed by those from the Stonefield's farm and the Maclure Vineyards. A hundred armored troops from the garrison at Westbrook came after that responding to Anduin's command and mounted on barded war horses. Then came those few residents which had still remained at Northshire Abbey, Marshall McBride and his troops followed by a half dozen others also responding to knews of their king's return. The last to arrive were dozens from the eastern borders of the province, the Eastvale Logging Camp who had come on horseback.

 

King Anduin Wrynn knew roughly how many people resided in the northern province of his kingdom. Outside of Stormwind, there had been approximately eight to ten thousand people. In the assembled crowd, as he took a mental head count, he estimated there might have been a tenth of that assembled in the village center.

 

“What happened to all the people?” The king asked aloud, standing next to the front of the inn. “There should be ten times this many.”

 

A man with shaggy dark brown hair and beard, wearing a blacksmith's apron over a black colored vest heard Anduin's question and responded, “People have been disappearing all over Elwynn, your majesty. A lot of our people were taken in the sweeps to the Stockades, with others it was just like they walked into the woods one day and never came back. Most of those taken by the guards were accused of being Jeshua's followers by the Priest whether they were or not.” The man glanced briefly at the armored soldiers who had arrived.

 

Another woman from the Stonefield's farm added, “Not everyone's come. My brother didn't believe you was here, your majesty, nor anything about what I saw. I tried to tell him, but he refused to set foot out of the house for the dark things in the forest lately. Them shady folks at the Blackwell's farm, they ain't here neither nor them Mages in the tower down the road.”

 

Frustrated, the king wanted to go to each and every house in that province and personally explain their situation to them, but from deep within himself he knew that there was no time. He couldn't force them to see reason. Finally, within himself, Anduin then let those that wouldn't come go. There was simply nothing more he could do.

 

“If they won't come they won't come and they will bear the consequences for it.” He said aloud.

 

 _But what about the people who she said disappeared? What about the people taken to the Stockades? The prison can't hold the entire population of Elwynn and people don't just disappear without cause._ Anduin became increasingly uneasy and disturbed at the implications.

 

He then approached the guard captain who had just returned with the garrison's troops. When the cohort saw him, each man saluted and took a knee in submission to their king.

 

“Captain.” Anduin addressed him directly. “What happened to the prisoners taken from Goldshire and the surrounding area?”

 

“Your majesty, they were taken to the Stormwind Stockades as we were ordered.” He responded.

 

“All of them?” Anduin wanted more than that. “None were taken to Westbrook to be questioned?”

 

“No, your majesty. We were ordered to bring them to the City Stockades and nowhere else. They were turned over to the Stockade wardens. We never saw them after that.” The captain replied sincerely.

 

 _Something isn't right._ Anduin thought. Nothing about any of it was right, he then realized, but the numbers weren't adding up. If what the guard said was true, the Stockades should have people literally stacked one on top of another and still be bulging at the seems.

 

And then a terrible thought occurred to him. “Did you witness any executions?”

 

“No, your majesty. None public anyways. I can't say there weren't any, but my men and I never saw any firsthand.” He answered.

 

 _Thank the Light for that at least._ Anduin breathed a short sigh of relief. He would get to the truth when they left Goldshire for Stormwind, and it wouldn't be soon enough.

 

“I did see prisoner transfers though, your majesty.” The guard then offered. “Prisoners in chains being led to somewhere in the Mage's district. I saw some also being taken to the Cathedral District. I had assumed it was for more questioning by the Priests there. I honestly can't even guess why they would have been taken to the spell chuckers though.”

 

 _Prisoner transfers to the Mage's District?_ A chill went up Anduin's spine as his mind involuntarily recalled with disgust everything that a living being could be used for in spell conjuration.

 

The earth beneath his feet shook and rumbled for a few brief moments before subsiding again.

 

Seeing that everyone had answered the call who was going to, a table had been brought outside from the inn, and the cup was made ready. Grayson poured a Dalaran Noir wine from the inn's bar into the cup, and praying over it as he had seen Jim do, he explained the meaning of the pact and offered it to everyone who had come. Just as the emissary had witnessed in Lordaeron, no matter how many people sipped from the cup, the level of wine in it never dropped until everyone present had sipped from it, sealing their own pact with the Holy Light through Jeshua Lightborn.

 

It was well into the evening when the last person had sipped from the cup, the young boy who had run from the sight of the Highlord, having been brought back by a neighbor who had taken him in. Anduin had discovered that the boy's parents, both of them, had been taken to Stormwind City days ago and had not been seen since.

 

After the cup had been passed and the rite had been performed, the king of Stormwind then approached the garrison soldiers and told them to make ready to ride to the city that night. He would not stand for any more innocents disappearing from his kingdom. He accepted a jet black stallion with full barding armor from his troops, and led two more over for Grayson Shadowbreaker and the Highlord to take their reins.

 

After careful consideration however, the Highlord of the Silver Hand told the king and the emissary, “I can't just leave them here to fend for themselves. I'm going to stay here to look out for the people. The darkness is still out there, and there still might be some who would straggle in. Take the cup with you. If need be, we can use a goblet from the inn. I don't think it'll matter as long as its prayed over.”

 

The king nodded in acknowledgment, respecting his decision. His own responsibility lay north in the city.

 

“Walk in the Light, my lord.” Grayson told him, saluting him with his fist over his breast. “Call on Jeshua if the village comes under attack again. He will answer.” He told him sincerely.

 

“I will.” the Highlord responded.

 

Once more the earth trembled under their feet.

 

“We really don't have much longer, do we?” The Paladin then asked, feeling the tremor. “They're getting more frequent.”

 

“Good luck.” Anduin told him in response, knowing that the question didn't really need to be answered. They all felt the same thing. They didn't have long at all. “May the Holy Light shine on us all tonight.”


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

 

In the middle of the Great Sea...

 

The captain of the icebreaker stood on the deck of his trading vessel with a spy glass watching the “beast”, the great storm which devoured all who came near it, to the south of them. The noon sky above him was overcast, and the clouds felt dark and threatening on his route to Valiance Keep from Stormwind. The winds had been hard but in their favor as had the Maelstrom's rotation which always cut their time traveling to the northernmost Alliance settlement, though fought against them tooth and claw should they try to go back the way they came. Formed thousands of years ago during what the Night Elves euphemistically called the “Sundering”, before humans were even a twinkle in their Vrykul forbears eye, it had been the bane of every ship's captain's existence no matter who they were. Honest traders or Bloodsail pirates, it made no difference. The insatiable bitch would suck you in and devour you whole if you got too close to her. She was a blessing if you were heading west north of her, but a demon if you were careless.

 

Captain Morrigan wasn't a careless man. Leathery, tanned face, and saltwater and sun bleached hair and beard, the human had plied these waters for the better part of three decades running goods and people between Stormwind, Menethil Harbor, Valiance Keep, and Theramore Isle... When there _was_ a Theramore Isle. Originally from the island kingdom of Kul Tiras, he had spent more hours of his life on a ship's deck than he ever had on solid ground. His hands bore the callouses of the ropes and rigging which he wouldn't shy away from when it needed doing, and his eyes though getting older were still sharp missing little. On occasion, he'd even gone around the northern coast of Kalimdor to trade with the Night Elves, running relief supplies to the Dark Shore and the survivors of Auberdine after the Cataclysm. The sea was where he felt most at home. The sea was his freedom.

 

“Mr. Kelley, three degrees to starboard.” Morrigan called out to his helmsman. “I can see her gettin' all excited about us rubbin' up against her. We need to let her down easy.”

 

Chill sea spray danced up from the waters below splashing those on the deck. Overhead and behind them, he could hear thunder rumbling, but saw no lightning as yet. With any luck, they might even be able to escape the storm before it became a squall.

 

“Aye aye, Captain, three degrees to starboard.” Came Kelley's reply.

 

If the storm should hit them, he'd have to draw up the sails, and start the main paddle wheel to keep them moving. Captain Morrigan didn't want to engage the ship's oil driven engines until he had to. He trusted the wind and the sea currents more than he would ever trust the inventions of Gnomes. Also, the fuel needed for the icebreaker was expensive, obtainable only through supply chains that he was nearly certain ended with either Goblins or Gnomes sitting on large piles of gold and silver. He knew he would have to fire them up soon enough as they approached the ice flows which surrounded Northrend. He didn't relish having to shell out extra gold because of a storm.

 

He continued to keep his eye on the monster to the south as his ship made its slight course correction. It was his practice every voyage to never let the Maelstrom out of his sight for long. You never knew what she was going to do or what she was going to throw at you. The churning storm clouds and flashing, unnatural lightning which swirled around the center of the great sea was, in its own way, a beautiful thing to behold. It was a terrifying display of raw power that forced you to respect it even as you struggled to keep your distance from it. It could be mesmerizing for him even as he held his resolve to keep his ship from it.

 

And then as he watched, in the blink of an eye, she was gone, collapsed into the waters that surrounded her.

 

Morrigan took his spyglass away from his eye and cleaned the lenses quickly before putting it back and scanning the southern horizon again. He couldn't find the eternal storm anywhere he looked. Beneath his feet, he could feel his ship slowing down as though the Maelstrom's rotational current was no longer there.

 

“What in the name of...?” He began to swear, lowering his spyglass and instinctively casting his eyes around his ship, noting the positions of his crew and the sounds coming from the masts and deck beneath him.

 

Out around the icebreaker, the seawater began to bubble and steam like Blackrock coffee on a cold morning. The air around the ship turned from chilled to feeling like he was making port near Booty Bay in the tropics. And then he saw a fish float to the surface, dead. Then another one. The carcass of what looked like an orca emerged at a distance off the port bow.

 

“What be this? Oh, lady, what hellish game you be playin' with me now?” He asked, disturbed greatly as he turned once more to face the south.

 

He almost couldn't wrap his mind around it. The Maelstrom had always been there, always waiting to dance with the sea captains and consume those who got too fresh with her.

 

He put his spyglass to his eye once more to check and see if she'd decided to reappear. Maybe it had been his imagination?

 

Immediately, Morrigan's face twisted in horror at what he saw and he began shouting orders, “Ninety degrees to Starboard, Kelley! Batten down the hatches! Draw up the sails! Fire the engines! Full power! Burn it all if you have to! Move if you want to live, boys!”

 

Around him his men jumped into action obeying his orders, they ran across the deck quickly. Kelley obeyed his captain without question and the ship rocked as the helmsman cranked the wheel hard. Beneath Morrigan's feet, he could feel the lurch of the paddlewheel engaging and thrusting the ship forward.

 

In the distance, miles to the south, a wave was building and sucking the water beneath them inexorably towards it. That was damning enough if that had been all it was. But no, the bitch had left another party favor behind. Beyond the building tidal wave, a new mountain had risen powerfully and suddenly in the middle of the sea, spewing molten rock and belching black ash.

 

Captain Morrigan didn't know if he and his men could outrun the tsunami, or even where it had come from. Maybe the Maelstrom had gotten tired of playing her usual games with him, and decided he and his ship would look more interesting at the bottom of the sea. But he had to at least give his men that hope and push his ship to try. He had two options, both insane: either he turned to port and headed straight into the wave, pushing the boat to dive through it, or he headed straight away from the massive wall of water and hoped the boat was able to catch the wave like some crazy goblins he once saw using waxed boards off the coast of the Swamp of Sorrows. Diving through the wave would most certainly put them closer to the fiery mountain that had appeared out of nowhere if it didn't boil them like potatoes in a pot. That left him with the other insane choice, but with an extreme amount of luck it might beach them somewhere on Northrend's coast to the north instead of the new death trap he saw in the south.

 

The icebreaker struggled forwards, the paddlewheel striking the water hard even as the water itself wanted to retreat behind them. Scanning the deck, he realized the men didn't know what he did. Those men still on deck had tied themselves to the masts like they would have in a “normal” squall.

 

“Get below deck!” He ordered them, taking his knife and slashing at the ropes hard, and watching to make sure they did the same same to their tethers. “All of you! Go!”

 

He watched as the deck cleared then scanned it one more time for stragglers. Up on the poop deck was one more, a man he knew wouldn't desert his post until someone took his place. He was a good man, sometimes too much so for his own good.

 

 _Damn. So that's the way it's gotta be does it?_ He swore mentally. Mr. Kelley knew as well as he did the ship wouldn't keep a straight course without someone steering it even with a rope locking the wheel, not in these conditions.

 

Morrigan made his decision. _It's my ship. I'll be the only one responsible for her keeping course._

 

He then climbed the steps, jumping as he ran up them to the helm and ordered his helmsman off the wheel, “You are relieved Mr. Kelley! Get below!”

 

“What about you, Captain?!” Mr. Kelley responded, a veteran sailor himself, his hands not having budged from the wheel.

 

“Someone's got to keep her straight now don't he?!” He shouted back. “Go! That's an order, sailor!”

 

Morrigan then took the wheel from him, choosing not to see the look in his helmsman's eyes as the human man, shoved to the side, obeyed his captain and made for the hatch to the lower deck. Focusing on his compass, he tried to keep it as steady as he could.

 

The captain then fully resigned himself once he heard that hatch shut tight and heard the click of the lock.

 

“Alright, you bitch,” The captain spat, wiping sweat from his forehead, “You want me, come and get me, but you'll not be takin' me crew if I've got anythin' to say 'bout it!”

 

He didn't turn to see the tsunami approaching his ship. He knew it was there and it was answering his challenge, slowly, relentlessly stalking the icebreaker. He didn't know what had caused it, where the hell the volcano in the middle of the ocean had come from, or why the sea around him was boiling. He'd never been much of a religious man, but as the fear of his ship's circumstances overtook him, he prayed to the Holy Light, or whatever divinity might be listening, “Holy Light shine on us,” he remembered the simple prayer from the few times in his childhood he attended the Church of Light's services, “enlighten us with your glory, shelter us from evil, and save us from the darkness. Forgive us for wandering from your light, and protect us from the shadow. Let us not taste death, but welcome us into your eternal presence.” He then added, his voice rising in pitch with fear, “Save me crew, and me. Please.”

 

The tsunami closed in, dragging his ship backwards towards its destructive force in spite of its straining engines. It would not take “not today” for an answer.

 

* * *

 

In Elwynn Forest...

 

The small force of armored soldiers rode hard towards their capital city, the night feeling like it wanted to close in around them. At their front was a young, blond haired man without armor dressed in travel worn Gilnean gentleman's clothes, a unique, elven made sword with a fiercely glowing golden eye strapped to his back. Behind him, but in a prominent place rode an unarmed, dark haired muscular man with a freshly grown full beard in plain white Priest's robes, barefoot in the stirrups, who looked to know how to handle a horse better than some of the soldiers who rode next to him.

 

In front of them, the outer walls and gate of the city, separating Elwynn Forest from the entry bridge and lake known as “the Valley of Heroes” drew closer and closer, the thunder from the horses' hooves shaking the ground beneath them as they approached. The armored guards at the gated entry appeared confused at the oncoming mass of soldiers bearing the standards and livery of Stormwind. And then they saw the young man with the golden blond hair leading them, and recognized him from previous duty in the Keep and around Stormwind.

 

“Look to the king!” The guards at the gate shouted in surprise, announcing his arrival. “Make way for King Anduin!”

 

The shout was picked up and repeated by the Stormwind guards all along the bridge and into the city even as the cohort of soldiers rode straight through the gate on their warhorses.

 

Anduin did not slow down, nor did he stop to acknowledge those men as he might once have. There was no time for such niceties. He, Grayson, and the garrison troops passed swiftly under the watchful eyes of the monolithic statues of the Alliance's heroes and continued on. They had always been larger than life to him growing up, and now he felt the weight of the gaze of those great men and women as though they and a host of other heroes were weighing his actions in the next few hours. Would he measure up? Briefly he wondered if his father, King Varian, was watching him from somewhere as well before shoving the thought out of his mind to focus on the task at hand.

 

He had discussed the plan briefly with Grayson and his captains. The Stockades had been his first thought, but then he couldn't shake the feeling that those in Stormwind's prison house were in the _lesser_ amount of danger than those being transferred elsewhere; those that were never seen after that. The king would take half of his men and head into the Mage's District where the guard captain had described seeing the prisoner transfers go. Grayson would take the other half and head for the Cathedral. They both wanted to be able to get Jeshua's pact to as many of those in Stormwind as they could, but the void aligned Priests and spell users had to be stopped in order for them to do that, as did the summoning happening in the Cathedral which threatened everyone and everything. Between the two of them, Anduin admitted, Grayson, and Jeshua's choice to work through him, appeared to be the better choice for stopping the appearance of the void god at the Cathedral if at all possible.

 

The inky black storm clouds overhead continued to rumble with its darkened, unnatural thunder and lightning. They rode past the bridge and into Stormwind's Trade District unchallenged, the patrol guards continuing to announce Anduin's arrival. The air in the city felt hotter and more humid than outside on the highway. It was a radical change from the deathly chill of just a few hours earlier.

 

In the center of the Trade District, just in front of the city's community board, sometimes referred to jokingly as the “Adventure Board” for the number of mercenary job postings on behalf of the kingdom which could be found on it, Anduin's and Grayson's two parties then split off, one heading west through the city gate across the canal to the Mage's District, the other running through the back street of the Trade District and across the canal bridge north to the Cathedral District.

 

“You majesty, where should be concentrate our search?” The guard captain had asked him as they slowed for the turn, passing the closed up auction house entry.

 

Anduin had given it some thought. “The Slaughtered Lamb tavern.” He replied.

 

In truth, he hoped he was wrong, but he could think of few other places to start that would welcome a steady stream of live prisoners. As King, he knew of and had mostly sanctioned the Warlocks to practice their fel arts in peace as long as they did so against Stormwind's enemies. Fel was an evil source of power, but Anduin, like his father before him, recognized that they made powerful allies against those who would harm or destroy his people. They had been left alone in their catacombs under the city as long as they followed his laws and nothing “got out of control”.

 

Anduin looked upwards towards the great cloud of darkness that covered his lands, as he did he then saw what had been hidden from his view in Elwynn. Thin streams of greenish black energies rising up from points in the city like unnatural jets of flame feeding the malevolent blot on the sky.

 

 _Things have definitely gotten out of control._ He decided.

 

The Mage's district was unlike the rest of the city in that the pathways in it were unpaved, and made little logical sense, turning and curving around themselves. Still at the head of his cohort, he turned right upon entering the grass and dirt path district and followed the narrow path between buildings around with his horse until he came out into one of the District's two centers. Spying the business opening he knew would be there he and his men rode up to it and dismounted.

 

Once his boots touched the ground, Anduin drew his father's sword from his back. In truth, he was more comfortable with his Priestly mace, and would have much preferred that role of healer, diplomat, and comforter over the one he would have to assume now as king of judge, jury, and if need be executioner in this raid of the Warlock sanctum he knew existed beneath the tavern. In this role, he was certain his father would have been more at home, and holding Shalamayne in his hand was the closest he could come then to summoning his father's warrior spirit to stand beside him.

 

Taking their cue from him, the soldiers all drew their own weapons, steel swords ringing as they slid out of metal scabbards and steel shields clanging as they came into their owners' grips. Armed and ready, they stood waiting for their king's orders.

 

“Our first priority is saving lives.” Anduin addressed them. “We go in and we learn if prisoners were wrongly brought here.”

 

“And if we do?” One of the captains asked.

 

“We free them, no matter who they are.” Anduin answered.

 

“What of the Warlocks, your majesty?” The captain asked again, his tone seeming to search for something. “They aren't likely to take kindly to being raided whether they're up to no good or not.”

 

“Self-defense, Captain.” Anduin answered firmly. “Leave them be unless they resist or attack.”

 

But the guard captain pressed him, wanting to be clear what their limits were. King Varian was not known for being shy when heads needed to be cracked, but Anduin had more of a softer reputation. “And if they do, your majesty?”

 

“Do what you need to do, Captain.” The king responded irritated at having to spell it out, his unease with his decision evident, but his decision made nonetheless. He then spoke up so all of his men could hear him clearly, “If anyone among them in there has murdered a citizen of this kingdom in service to evil forces then that person has forfeited his own life. Am I clear?”

 

The guard captain stiffened up where he stood, “Yes, your majesty.” His respect for the young king having grown in those moments. The other soldiers also replied in unison, “Yes, your majesty!”

 

 _This is what kings must do._ He told himself. _This is why we bear a sword, to defend the weak and to dispense hard justice when needed. It's not supposed to be a pleasant duty, but it is a necessary one._

 

And then he quietly prayed in a low voice, “Holy Light, let the king's sword be the instrument of your justice. Let my faith in you be my shield. Let us free all those we can and save as many as possible _.”_

 

Near him, the guard captain having heard added reverently, “So ask we all, your majesty.”

 

Anduin nodded in acknowledgment.

 

“Let's go.” Anduin then told them, not looking forward to what he would find... or have to do. Bringing Shalamayne to bear in his hand, he led his men into the tavern's entrance.

 

* * *

 

In the Cathedral District...

 

The Cathedral square was quiet. Grayson had stood many times there in front of the statue of Uther the Lightbringer crowning the triple pooled waterfall fountain, meditating on the great man's life and legacy. Always there had been the sounds of life. Children from the orphanage would laugh and play nearby. Priests would discuss theology or philosophical concepts. There had been a serenity to be sure, but there was always a joyfulness to that serenity. There was none of that now. The fountain had stopped running, the calming splashing sound had been silenced. Except for Grayson and the men attached to him, the square was unnaturally empty and still like a grave.

 

He hoped it was just because of the hour of the night, but his gut kept telling him otherwise. It just felt wrong, dark, and malevolent to the former Paladin.

 

High above them, a swirling greenish black vortex of energy enveloped the uppermost spire of the Cathedral and flowed upwards, feeding the central mass of the black lightning storm cloud which dominated the sky above. The air was humid and hot and sweat stained his robes where he stood. Around the square, oil lit lanterns struggled to keep their tiny lights aflame against the black night.

 

The Cathedral doors up the steps in front of them were shut, as was every window and door he could see in the dim lighting. Like everything else in the square, it felt hostile and unnatural. The Church of Light had never had anything to hide before, and all had always been welcome regardless of time of day or night.

 

“Are you with me, my lord?” Grayson asked aloud in a low voice, addressing no one the armored soldiers with him could see.

 

 _Always, my Paladin._ Came the internal response. _I will always be with you. We are one through my pact._

 

“On your signal then, my lord.” Grayson then responded aloud, his weapon hand gripping for a hilt or shaft that wasn't there.

 

“My lord?” The captain standing near him asked in confusion. “To whom are you speaking?”

 

 _Go._ Came the response.

 

“Let's go!” Grayson then commanded the men, ignoring the guard's question, and started forward from the fountain.

 

They marched up the steps of the Cathedral and stopped at the closed double doors. When Grayson pulled at the handle, unsurprisingly, he found it wouldn't move. He knew that the Cathedral doors had no locks on them. They had never been needed. Feeling the door and the handle with his hands, they felt cold, unstable, and like everything else, dark.

 

Then, a kind of soft golden glow of Light began to surround the leader of the raid like an enveloping shield. It illuminated the space around the men, growing brighter. The guard captain then watched as Grayson put the palm of his hand against the door and closed his eyes. Pure, sacred Light streamed from his hand out and into the grain of the wood of the door, penetrating it and causing it to glow with a golden fury. Soon, the doors erupted in a holy, white, purifying flame that consumed them entirely in seconds.

 

“Eyes open!” Grayson warned his men as the purging flames died down. “This place has been defiled by the Shadow! Steel alone won't help against what we may find inside! Call on the Holy Light to aid you against it! Call on Jeshua!”

 

“Yes, my lord!” The men replied, awed by the display they had already been shown.

 

Inside the Cathedral was almost pitch black. The Holy Light which radiated off of Jeshua's emissary provided the only illumination for the men to see by as it drove back the almost tangible darkness the men ran into. As they came into the sanctuary, runes glowing with a dark, violet light had been drawn in a pattern all across the marble of the floor up to where the altar lay. Lumps of what looked like commoner's clothing in the darkness with globs of hair and broken flesh lay scattered around them. The overpowering stench of death and decay was everywhere. Behind Grayson, several of the soldiers lost their gorge at the smell, lifting their helmets to spill it on the floor beneath them.

 

“Holy Light. What's happened here?” The guard captain next to Grayson asked, his voice trembling at the sight.

 

“Terrible things, captain.” Grayson replied, his voice filling with sadness and anger. “Terrible, unholy things.”

 

A maniacal laughter then began to echo around the darkened sanctuary's chamber. It chilled the soldier's bones when they heard it. “Somehow this all seems familiar!” The voice cackled from the darkness. “The same play with fresh actors!”

 

Off to their right, from a far side passage, voices could be heard pleading and crying.

 

 _They're coming from the catacombs._ Grayson then realized. _There are people still alive down there!_

 

“How do we proceed, my lord?” The captain asked.

 

Grayson thought quickly, and then said, “You've all taken Jeshua's pact. There is power in that! Call on him and he will answer you! Captain, take your men and head into the catacombs, free everyone you can! Remember, the battle belongs to the Light, not your swords. Call on it and it will come to your aid!”

 

“And you, my lord?” The captain asked.

 

“I am called to be right here where I am. You have your orders. Move out.” Grayson answered.

 

“Yes, my lord.” The captain responded, and then called to his men, “You heard the man! The battle belongs to the Light! Let's move!”

 

The soldiers then, swords out and shields up, all swarmed around Grayson and past him towards the entry to the catacombs below the Cathedral. He marveled at the courage of the armored men and women, none of them magic users of any kind that he knew of yet knowing the kinds of monsters they might face being willing to rush into the darkness in order to save lives regardless. It was these kinds of heroic men and women that the kingdom of Stormwind had been built on, those willing to sacrifice themselves so that others might live.

 

When they disappeared, Grayson moved forward towards the center of the sanctuary, his bare feet cold against the floor. Light radiated off of him, illuminating the thick darkness around him, burning it away from him and forcing it back. He could see the corpses on the ground. Some of them looked days old. Some of them looked fresh, maybe within hours. Pools of blood, both dried and fresh were everywhere.

 

“So this is the champion the Light sends, eh?” The maniacal voice cackled once more. “An unarmed, washed up has-been with no armor and no clue. Pathetic.”

 

“The Light is my hammer and my armor!” Grayson called back defiantly. “I will not fear the darkness for the Holy Light shines within me!”

 

The Light radiating around Grayson grew in brightness and intensity, illuminating the shadows of the sanctuary until they burned away against the pillars and columns to the sides.

 

The voice laughed once more, though the laughter was uncertain and died quickly. “You're too late, 'warrior of light'. The call has been heard! The darkness comes to consume her and there is nothing you can do to prevent it!”

 

The Light coming off of Grayson illuminated the far back wall where the altar lay. Behind that altar stood a balding man with a beard in midnight blue Priest's robes. In his hand was a sharp, obsidian colored fang like dagger. On the altar was a small bundle of bloodied clothes. Blood dripped from one side of the defiled table and short blond locks could be seen as Grayson approached, as well as smallish, light skinned arms.

 

“Malcolm?” Grayson exclaimed in horror, recognizing the body of the boy on the altar.

 

“That's why they're called altar boys isn't it?” The Shadow Priest remarked evilly. “It takes a lot more of them than I thought it would to power the void fissure above us.”

 

A burning, righteous rage rose up within Grayson at the monster in front of him as tears for the slaughtered innocents filled his eyes. Every muscle in his body, every fiber of his being wanted justice for those lives taken in the name of the Void. He had known Malcolm. He was a kind, good kid from a good family in town. The boy hadn't yet decided if he wanted to pursue the Priesthood or to follow the Paladin order as a squire. He had been like a little brother to everyone in the Cathedral. He had only been nine years old.

 

 _The battle belongs to the Light, Grayson._ Jeshua's voice came to him again. _Your rage will not help them._ _The enemy is the Void. Justice belongs to me._

 

“By your leave then, my lord.” Grayson responded in submission, his voice choked with emotion.

 

He felt weak, his arms and legs wanting to collapse from the weight of what he was seeing and being held back from avenging it. Every instinct in him wanted to grab a warhammer from somewhere and smash the Shadow Priest into a bloody heap and spit on his remains before setting them ablaze with holy fire, but he felt Jeshua's meaning. Just like the Priest in Goldshire, this man was deceived and under the Shadow's control.

 

 _Trust me, Grayson, and you will see things you didn't think possible._ Jeshua's voice spoke to him once more.

 

“The Void will consume everything! Not even the Light can escape its grasp!” The Shadow Priest cackled, waving his bloodied knife in the air.

 

Grayson then felt the Light within him take control, strengthening his arms and steadying his stance. He opened his mouth to speak, but felt as a spectator giving permission for its use, “What is darkness, but an absence of the Light?”

 

The Shadow Priest began to laugh once more at him.

 

“I have come to bring Jeshua's Light to this darkness.” Grayson heard his own voice saying, but knew it hadn't originated with him.

 

The emissary then knelt down and placed his palm flat against the ground once more as he had done in Goldshire and out on the highway. “He is resurrection and life itself.” Grayson's voice intoned, though the words had not come from him, and he himself had been confused as to why he said them. “He is the Holy Light.”

 

The Shadow Priest's laughter froze. “Wait, what are you doing?!” He called out.

 

Golden white Light exploded from where Grayson made contact with the floor like a bright star gone nova. Holy Light flooded the sanctuary of the Cathedral, burning away the blood and dissolving the offending runes which covered the floor and the altar. The Light slammed into the Shadow Priest and he flew backwards against the Cathedral wall, dropping the dagger against the floor. Void energy then erupted from the man's form screaming a deep and demonic cry as though in intense pain at the pure glory of the Holy Light being revealed.

 

“NOOOO!!!” The void creature cried out in futility as the Light attacked it without mercy, devouring and destroying it until there was nothing left of its dark shadow to be found.

 

The Light continued its cleansing, purifying purge of the sanctuary. It gently enveloped the body of the boy on the altar like a mother with her own child, filling and surrounding him in its radiance. Likewise, it did the same with the bodies on the floor. Wounds gently closed and flesh which had started to decompose became fresh, healthy, and living. The Light gently lifted them off the floor and set the newly living people on their feet as it continued its purge, racing around the sanctuary and its antechambers reaching deep into the Cathedral's various quarters and then plunging down into the catacombs, purifying and destroying the shadows wherever it went moving at the speed of light itself. It climbed also up into the higher levels and chambers of the building and up into the spires, dissolving and banishing the stream of dark, fel energies being poured up into the night sky, denying the void fissure any more of the fuel it was using to grow larger, though the inky black mass, high in the sky over the world did not dissipate.

 

Outside, the wave of Light rippled out from the Cathedral's walls and began to blanket the streets and buildings around it expanding ever outwards until it encompassed the walls of the Cathedral District, and then the canals, and then the surrounding districts of the city until the entire metropolis was bathed in the Light's holy glory.

 

“Lord Shadowbreaker? Is that you?” Grayson heard a familiar young voice call out to him and then realized he had been closing his eyes.

 

He opened them to see the Cathedral sanctuary blazing with Light everywhere. And it was filled with living, breathing people around him as he stood from where he had been kneeling and turned this way and that to see. Up near the altar, a blond haired, nine year old boy in a white acolyte's alb had called out to him.

 

“Malcolm?” He called back in awe and surprise. “You're alive?” And then turning once more to see the people, “You're all alive?”

 

 _I am resurrection and life itself, Grayson. Do you believe this?_ Jeshua's voice asked him, gently.

 

“I do, my lord.” Grayson answered, awestruck at what had just been done through him.

 

 _Then tell them how this happened, and what they must do._ Jeshua reminded him. _There isn't much time left._

 

Grayson then began to snap himself back to reality. Jeshua was right. He had come to Stormwind to do a job and he was going to do it. None of them had the time for him to be waylaid or stunned by the power of what had just occurred or how the Holy Light had used him.

 

“Everyone, listen to me! This miracle which has been done for you was done through the power and name of Jeshua Lightborn!” Grayson raised his voice and announced to them. “The Holy Light sent him to save and redeem this world and all of its children from the darkness. It now pleads and begs with you like a parent to accept the pact Jeshua Lightborn has made with us all by taking his cup and becoming true children of the Light!” He took the silver chalice he had carried out of it's sack and showed it to the newly resurrected. “Go, tell everyone you can what Jeshua Lightborn has done for you and bring them back here to the Cathedral to receive the Light's gift through him!”

 

 


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

 

On the shores of Northrend near Vengeance Landing...

 

“Over here!” A voice, human he thought, cried out somewhere in the distance. It sounded familiar like a man he knew from somewhere. “This one's still breathing!”

 

Another voice, higher in pitch joined the first one, “So's this one! Holy Light, they're in bad shape though. Someone bring healing draughts, quickly!”

 

Throbbing pain shot through his head and he cried out for it, “Aaaahh!” Then his body soon reported more of it, as though every bone in his body was broken and shattered.

 

“There's another one!” The first voice shouted, sounding closer.

 

Some time passed, though he didn't know how much. He continued to hear voices in the distance. Some closer, and some farther away moving around him. The smell of warm saltwater filled his nostrils, and the sounds of crashing waves flooded his ears which were ringing loudly. Every breath he took was like fire. Through the pain he could feel wet sand and rock beneath him. The weight of something hard and rough pressed in on his hurting chest.

 

And then he realized, _I'm not dead?_ The next thought that came to him was, _How am I not dead?_

 

Intense pain shot through him once more and he cried out for it, whimpering like a babe without being able to control it. _I_ _could_ _wish I was though._

 

“Alliance flags!” Yet another voice called out to the others. “Alliance flags in the wreckage!” This one was deeper and more gruff. More like an Orc's he had once tried to play cards with in a seedy tavern in Ratchet on the coast of Kalimdor.

 

There was a pause, where he heard no voices or movement after that. And then the first voice called out, “Doesn't matter now, does it Grotok? Not with what's happenin' around us!”

 

The Orc's voice grunted before conceding, “Maybe not. Doesn't mean they're friendly though even if we help them!”

 

“Don't mean we don't try, do it?!” Came the response.

 

All was still dark to the man lying there. _Have I gone blind? Why can't I see?_

 

He tried to move his arms, but was met with resistance from both the pain and something pinning them down. He then realized his eyelids were still closed and he tried to open those. When he did, a dim, overcast daylight met them through blurry lenses.

 

He heard the first voice again, “Hey! I know this one!” And then he heard feet hitting the wet sand next to him. “Get over here and give me a hand will ya! We gotta get this wheel off o' him!”

 

He then heard heavier foot falls on the sand. Two dark shapes appeared over him against what light there was. One was human shaped and thin. The other was much larger and bulkier and carried a bright green pallor. The two shapes reached down and pulled hard against the weight on his chest, pulling on it until he felt it lifting completely from him. The larger of the two then took the wheel shaped weight in two massive hands and quickly shifting threw it to the side where he heard wood snapping as it crashed hard against something.

 

“Captain Morrigan, sir?” The thinner, human shape asked him. “Can you hear me?”

 

Morrigan then tried to work his mouth and tongue to respond, but no sound would come out at first. Then finally, he managed a weak, “Aye...”

 

“This one's the most badly hurt we've seen.” The Orc's voice told the other man. “By rights he should already be dead, emissary.”

 

“No... the Light ain't done with this man yet, friend.” The other man's voice replied. “It saved him along with everyone else from the wreck.”

 

Then Morrigan saw the man reach out his hand and place it gently on his chest, palm down and heard him say, “Captain Morrigan, Jeshua Lightborn heals you.”

 

Suddenly, a warm, pleasant feeling spread from where the man made contact with his chest throughout his entire body. The intense pain he had been experiencing lessened until it disappeared entirely and new strength replaced it. His vision cleared and the gray bearded, weathered face of a man he had sailed with many, many times.

 

“Old Jim?” Morrigan asked, surprised at the sight of the man who healed him. He had been a good sailor and a good helmsman, better than Kelley if he was to be honest, even if he was a little too fond of the drink at times. But Old Jim had been about as far from a Priest of any kind as you could get. The last time he had seen him was when he put him off in Menethil Harbor months ago. Old Jim never came back come time to weigh anchor. Morrigan thought maybe he'd finally succumbed to the rum. “Jim Jacobson?”

 

“Welcome to Northrend, Captain. I've got a whopper of a story to tell you. The unbelievable part is that it's all true.” Jim Jacobson replied.

 

 _You and me both, Jim._ He thought to himself, the memory of the Maelstrom and the wave returning to him.

 

“How many?” Morrigan asked, his voice still rough but strong. “How many of my crew survived?”

 

“We've counted forty seven so far, sir.” Jim replied. “We ain't found no dead, but we got people still combin' the beach. We saw the icebreaker come in and break apart near the old Alliance fort. We've been searchin' for survivors for the last hour.”

 

 _Forty seven?_ Morrigan did the math in his head. _That's almost everyone what was on board_ , he thought.

 

“We've taken them to Vengeance Landing for food and healers.” The Orc's voice spoke again.

 

Morrigan turned his head to see a large Orc male wearing a white shirt with a furred leather vest and breeches. A salt and pepper beard adorned his chin, and a circlet of gold pierced his short, sharp green ear. A red bandana was tied around his otherwise bald head. His massive hands and feet were bare though. Morrigan guessed he might have been one of the Horde's “sea dogs”.

 

“Vengeance Landing, huh?” He then asked with some resignation.

 

The Orc grunted in acknowledgment.

 

 _Well, I suppose it could be worse._ The sea captain thought to himself.

 

“I ain't gonna complain. I guess bein' a prisoner's better 'n knockin' on Helya's door.” Morrigan replied, thinking of the sea witch keeper of the dishonored dead that all sailors feared to see.

 

Then the Orc smirked at him and chuckled, “No prisoners today, human.” He said in his deep voice. Seeing the sailor's face after that, he quickly added, “Light willing, no Helya either. Just food, rest, and the cup.”

 

 _What Orc swears by the Holy Light?_ Morrigan asked himself, and then he caught the end of his words.

 

“The cup?” Morrigan questioned as Jim offered his hand to help him up.

 

“I've got a lot to tell ya, Captain sir. A lot to tell ya.” Jim replied.

 

* * *

 

In Stormwind...

 

Anduin and his men had been knee deep in corpses deep in the catacombs when the Light flooded them. He hadn't known where it had come from or who had summoned it, though he could guess. His men had charged into the empty tavern and through the tunnel in the back where he knew the entrance to Stormwind's ancient underbelly of graves would be, and where the Warlocks held their dark rites.

 

It had been darker down there than he had ever known the catacombs to be. They had met resistance on the first landing, taking the fel practitioners by surprise. He had witnessed them drawing the lifeforce out of a young golden haired woman, not much younger than he. _Sally_ , her name had come to his mind. The young woman's name was Sally. He had heard her playing with her brother occasionally when he was a boy as the two would chase each other, teasing each other about some toy. There had even been times he had wanted to join in their sport, but his station and responsibilities wouldn't have allowed for it. Near her, the body of a young child lay lifeless, desiccated and cold.

 

More bodies littered the landing, discarded like old trash. Young men, old men, young women, small children; all lives that had been drained by the Warlocks for their own dark purposes and just cast off. There had been six Warlocks, two men and four women on that first landing.

 

He had seen more than enough to pronounce their sentence.

 

Calling on the Light to shield him and his men, they drove into the Warlocks, enraged by the horrors they had already seen. Saddened and angered, his father's sword tasted blood and battle once more as Anduin swung its sharp blade, dealing his judgment as king upon the wanton murderers. He would not wait for the soldiers to strike. He felt his responsibility keenly as he struck the first blow himself. He felt no satisfaction. He hated every motion, every second, and every life taken by Shalamayne, But he was Stormwind's king. Their judgment belonged to him.

 

 _Was this what my father felt when he had to order an execution? When he had to kill in battle to defend our kingdom?_ Anduing wondered.

 

He petitioned the Light desperately to resuscitate Sally and bring her back from the brink of death to which she had been taken. When her pallor and youthfulness had returned to her under its gentle golden glow, he left her in the care of a soldier to guide her back to the surface. Her traumatized and tear filled expression had been such a sharp contrast to the happy girl he had seen running through Stormwind's streets years ago.

 

Hers wasn't the last they encountered pressing forward down into the tunnels of crypts and mausoleums, neither were the corpses the only horrors they found. Voidwalkers, demonic imps, and succubi had all been summoned by their masters to defend them. They evoked unwanted images in his own mind and the minds of his men from the horrors they had encountered in the Legion war. Coupled with the bodies on the stone floors it felt like a waking nightmare for them all.

 

It had been on the third landing that the Holy Light blasted through the tunnels, reducing the demons they encountered to ash and restoring and enlivening the corpses they found before their very eyes. Anduin could have cheered, could have cried, could have shouted out for joy at the awesome sight. Within himself he had praised the Light as he dropped to his knees awestruck by its power and thankful for its purifying presence.

 

The Warlocks that had been enveloped by the Light were terrified at its coming, and he had seen them cry out in pain until they collapsed unconscious on the stone floors, inky blackness being forced from them until it too was dissolved in the holy purge.

 

It was then that their mission turned from rescue and retribution to evacuating everyone from the tunnels that they could and getting them to the surface. And they suddenly had hundreds of confused and frightened people on their hands to evacuate.

 

Anduin had imagined the scene of even further confusion in the Mage's District that night as those hundreds of people began pouring out of _The Slaughtered Lamb's_ entryway. He had been the last to leave to ensure that no one, not even the Warlocks themselves, had been left behind them.

 

The night air was hot and humid when the king of Stormwind emerged from the tavern's entryway. More hot and humid than he had ever known the usually cool and comfortable seaside city to be. Overhead, the dark fel threads which had been feeding the swirling mass of Shadow energy above them had been cut off, but the mass remained, continuing to rotate and crackle with its violent amethyst colored lightning.

 

In the center, as he watched it, an eye appeared to form like an inverted whirlpool. The mass of darkness then appeared to rise upwards, but what was more disturbing was that it continued to grow in size, and its rotation appeared to increase in speed as it did creating great gusts of wind around them.

 

“Get these people to the Cathedral, Captain!” Anduin shouted to the officer in charge of the soldiers as he watched it.

 

“The Cathedral, your majesty?” The captain asked, confused. “Won't that be dangerous, my lord?”

 

“Unless I'm wrong, Grayson's already neutralized the threat there. We need to get as many people from the city as possible to the Cathedral to take the cup. That's why we came. Tell them what you yourself have seen. Tell them the truth, that Azeroth is waking up and this is the only way. Send your men out to warn as many as they can! Go!” Anduin responded.

 

“At once, your majesty!” The guard captain answered him, then moved immediately to carry out his orders and herd everyone he and his men could in the direction of the Cathedral district.

 

Anduin turned his attention back to the sky. He had wanted to cheer the seeming withdrawal of the void energy from his city's skyline. But a dark, ominous foreboding kept building within him.

 

* * *

 

_The vortex of Void energy grew in size and strength over the next several hours as it retreated from Azeroth's landmass. The lines of fel energy which had tethered it there and kept it constrained had been broken by the Light's interference. It rose higher and higher in the sky until it left the blue shell of the planet's atmosphere continuing to grow in size and strength as it did so. It drifted past the White Lady and the Blue Child until it settled in a point in the Great Dark just beyond them, blotting out the bright golden star in the sky that had formed with the departure of Argus and the pantheon of Titans._

 

_The White Lady watched as it ascended, hoping it would continue to drift farther and farther away until it left sight entirely. To her horror, it did not. Like a gaping hell born maw it continued to grow until it threatened to blot out everything. Like a space born Maelstrom it threatened to devour everything as it began to draw everything towards itself._

 

 _The White Lady saw this and then understood what the Void meant to do, what it had always meant to do._ No! _She thought desperately._ Not when she's on the verge of her birth!

 

Everything I have done, I have done for you, Azeroth. _She spoke without words to her charge._

 

_Remembering every life that had been taken by the Void and its agents, unwitting or no, remembering her dearest Malorne, her friend Ysera, and every one of those who had called her “mother” who had given their lives to protect this world, the White Lady stirred with a mother's heart to defend her loved ones._

 

“ _For Azeroth.”_ _Her celestial voice echoed through the Great Dark, and though no warrior, the gentle healer had made her decision to fight for the life of her ward even if it cost her own._

 

_* * *_

 

In Teldrassil...

 

The backlash among the Night Elves residing among the enchanted lands in the branches of the world tree had been swift and severe against the two Kaldorei Paladins and former Demon Hunter. Some, like Syloren's brother had been patient and listened to what he had to say regarding the human Shan'do and the wonders he had wrought across the face of Azeroth. But many others who remembered the young human vagrant who had quietly challenged Elune's Priestesses reacted angrily, denouncing them as heretics and worse.

 

Amerian's vision of Elune was met with derision and suspicion, as was the insistence that taking Jeshua's pact was the only way of escape.

 

The great tree had begun to shake more frequently and more violently over those last several days, collapsing marble and stone colonnades and domes in Darnassus that did not sway and give like the wooden, treeform structures did. The cool sea air which surrounded the island upon which it was founded turned hot, and the waters of the Veiled Sea began to boil around it, killing the crabs, fish, and other sea life and bringing a great stench up into Teldrassil's treetop world. And then the alarm went out to every Druid in Teldrassil as the branches, trunk, and powerful, thick roots of the world tree began to die, cooked and burned by the waters that had previously nurtured it. Try as they might, calling on every natural force and energy they could, they could not restore their home against the increasing force of the catastrophes happening around them.

 

And then Tyrande Whisperwind and Malfurion Stormrage, the two most revered leaders in modern Night Elf history, unable to fight against the death of their home made the decision to call for the evacuation of Teldrassil to the Dark Shore by every means possible. The kaldorei nation would have to return to the mainland.

 

Syloren stood on the docks at Lor'danel along with Delas and Nerus Moonfang and the two elderly humans for whom he felt a familial responsibility. His eyes were turned towards the great tree. Already from that distance he could see the extent of the withering that had taken place. Next to him stood his brother, Keldamyr. Around them on the docks were dozens of other lavender and azure skinned refugees that had sailed with them on the boats that were now running constantly between there and Rut'theran village.

 

A single tear fell from Syloren's eye as he gazed on the tree. He had offered the cup to his people and any others who could hear him. So had the two Paladins. Jacob and Martha Davidson had taken it. After some length of time, so had his brother, Keldamyr and a few dozen others from among his people.

 

But even with the emissary's warnings and words coming true around them, most of his people refused to hear what they considered heresy. They didn't want to hear about the human that preached love for one's enemies and forgiveness to those who had wronged you. They didn't want to hear that Elune had spoken to one of their own and had called herself merely a caretaker and not their mother goddess. They didn't want to hear that their vengeful campaign against the Orcs, the undead, and the hated High Elves regardless of their faction was in total opposition to the will of the Light.

 

And so he wept for them, knowing them to be mostly a good and honorable people who had wanted to bring about the Emerald Dream themselves, but unable to see the truth of it when it was within their grasp. It was a horrible irony.

 

“Light forgive them.” He prayed quietly as he stood there. “They don't know what they're doing.”

 

Up in the sky, Elune shone down full upon them, bathing the Dark Shore in her soft, silver light. To Syloren, that gentle light suddenly seemed sadder, like a mother whose children refused to follow her guidance and would hurt themselves because of it.

 

He then turned his eyes skyward toward Elune and quietly addressed his goddess, “Mother Elune, you gave us this warning. Reveal to your people the mistake they are making in rejecting it, please.”

 

He held his gaze on the White Lady for some time, noting the various features of the moon's landscape. Mountains, valleys, craters, all scattered across her surface. Was she truly a goddess or a whole other world, or was she both? He wondered silently.

 

And then as he watched, those features on the White Lady's surface began to disappear. Mountain peaks began to shrink and smooth out and valleys began to fill. Long, smooth fissures formed across her surface, separating it and growing wider.

 

“What is happening to Mother Moon?” He exclaimed, only then realizing that he had been pointing at what he was seeing.

 

Other silvery kaldorei eyes then turned towards their patron goddess and gasps of shock and even screams were heard among them at what they saw. Those fissures grew wider, and the glowing silver surface of the moon grew smoother... like a woman's skin.

 

And then as they watched, the White Lady began to unfold herself as though she had been curled up into a ball, her slender arms wrapped around her knees. Long, tapered ears appeared to the sides of a beautiful, matronly silver white Night Elf face, flowing silver white hair cascading down to either side and down her back. Plates of silvery moonlight formed around her titanic legs, chest, and torso like armor, and a long, curved scythe formed and elongated in her right hand. A diadem crested with the image of a quarter moon adorned her head.

 

“Mother Elune!” Syloren cried out, tears streaming down his face for the sight.

 

Then her eyes opened and they radiated Light. Pure, silvery moonbeams of Light flashed from her eyes as she looked down upon those who would call themselves her children.

 

Around him, his fellow Night Elves fell to their knees at the awesome sight of the revelation of their goddess. She looked down upon them, her face saddened but determined.

 

And then she spoke, her celestial voice carrying across the heavens, “She is almost here. Her husband comes. I will hold off the Void as long as I can. Take the cup, my people. Please.” She pleaded with them in their own language. And then, turning her gaze out into the Great Dark she left her position in the sky, launching herself like a warrior, her scythe raised for the reaping.

 

Syloren continued to stand there, pointing up into the sky, dumbfounded at what he saw and heard as he watched the White Lady ascend to a point in the heavens only she knew. It took several minutes before he felt the eyes of those around him then turn to him.

 

His gaze then came to down to find all eyes focused on him and the Moonfangs near him. There was a look of shock and shame among all of them, priestesses and priests, sentinels and Druids, tradesmen and commoners alike. Each one wrestled with themselves, looking as though they wanted to speak, but unable to bring themselves to do it.

 

Finally, Syloren himself broke the awkward silence, “It's not too late, my people! Someone fetch a bottle of wine from the inn and we can follow as Mother Elune has instructed us! There is forgiveness and healing to be found in Jeshua Lightborn's cup, no matter who you are, and no matter what you have done!”

 

And then a dark, sapphire haired woman wearing the robes of a Priestess of the goddess left and ran on sandaled feet towards the inn. Others then followed after her, and Syloren realized it would make more sense to bring them all off of the docks and into the port town's inn to hold the rite.

 

“Come, let's make the table ready.” He then announced, and started down the dock after them himself.

 

* * *

 

In the Great Dark high above Azeroth...

 

_Elune had gazed upon the face of Azeroth from where she dwelt in the heavens and saw what mortal eyes could not. She saw the surface of the land both above and beneath the oceans beginning to crack and magma seeping up from rift after rift across the face of the world. She saw seas and great bodies of water shifting and deluging smaller islands for the quakes. She saw the ley lines which had been her charge's life giving umbilical cords erupting and draining as the Titan within no longer needed them. She saw her beautiful, surrogate Titan child beginning to stir and move more and more to break free of the crust around her._

 

_She couldn't let anything stop her from being born, not as long as her celestial heart still beat within her. This was her whole reason for being, to ensure the bride was ready for her husband when the time came._

 

_Elune ascended towards the swirling mass of darkness. She could feel the immense pull as it tried to capture her and drag her towards itself, hoping to consume her in its all devouring appetite. The goddess then planted her feet deep within the dimensional fabric of the Great Dark, using it as an anchor against the pull of the Void. She then lashed out, swinging her scythe hard towards the vortex and unleashing a devastating blast of her silvery moonlight towards it._

 

“ _You cannot have her!” She cried out against the Void as she swung._

 

_The powerful energies struck the swirling mass hard, setting parts of it ablaze with silvery white flames and the mass of darkness shuddered in pain at the touch of the Light she wielded as a weapon against it._

 

“ _I will have everything little goddess...” A deep and demonic celestial voice responded. “I will devour all until there is only the Void!”_

 

_And then smaller chunks and bits of the darkness began to emerge and break away from the rotating Void cloud. They all formed grotesque hands and arms and grew in size as they rushed at the goddess, malevolent expressions on their void formed features._

 

_Elune struck again and again at the void creatures which kept coming at her, powerful Light blasting them from her scythe and from her eyes. But more kept coming, more in number and greater in power as a darkened, crystal form being emerged from the Vortex. The malevolent, twisted power which radiated off of it could shatter worlds, she knew._

 

_She struck at the corrupted being, once a child of the Light forged Naaru she herself had brought into being from the crystalized Light found across the Great Dark after the initial blast of creation. With deep sadness she shattered the dark and twisted creature with the edge of her scythe before it had the chance to strike at her beloved Azeroth._

 

_And then another one emerged. And then another after it. Void god after Void god answering the summons of the runes which had been drawn to bring them to that place._

 

“ _There is no escape from my power, little goddess. There is no limit to my darkness. You, and every Light forged creature will be destroyed.” The voice of the darkness rang out threateningly around her._

 

_The Void gods then attacked her, their darkness lashing out at her like burning whips trying to wrest her from her celestial anchor and drag her ever closer to the maw of the beast before her. She swung and fought, Silvery Light flashing back and forth as she called on every ounce of Light filled strength she had to buy time for Azeroth's birth._

 

_But they just kept coming at her. The Void was relentless in its assault. It would not be denied its prize._

 

* * *

 

In Stormwind...

 

Dawn had come after one of the darkest nights Anduin Wrynn had ever experienced in the city of his forefathers, but it brought him no comfort as he watched the sun rise in the east, bringing its light once more to the metropolis he had known and loved.

 

The call had gone out to the entire city, as far and as wide as possible that he had returned and was calling everyone to receive Jeshua's pact in the Cathedral. For the first time, the city's residents had felt hope and light return to them, even as the ground continued to shake and the air grew hotter as the nearby sea continued to boil.

 

Wave upon wave of people flocked to the Light filled Cathedral where Grayson was waiting with Jeshua's cup. There had been little time for preaching, or teaching about Jeshua of any kind, but both he and the emissary did what they could with what they had.

 

He stood in Cathedral Square that morning, moving about the throng of people that had turned out, giving words of encouragement and hope among those who had taken, and among those who waited to take. Over the next several hours, the sun had risen higher and higher into the sky and it almost felt like a normal day once more, maybe even a day of celebration.

 

But the King of Stormwind knew what was coming, and he knew they could not relax their efforts. The shaking tremors under his feet which were now constant served to remind him of that.

 

And then the sun in the sky began to blaze hotter and larger than it ever had before. The people around him pointed to the heavenly object, screaming and shouting as it _unfolded_ and changed before their very eyes into a shape that many recognized and feared. It then left its place in the sky above bringing a strange twilight as it drew farther and farther away into the great dark beyond.

 

* * *

 

In the Great Dark High above Azeroth...

 

_Tendrils of Void energy wrapped themselves around Elune's silvery arms and legs. Its cold, maddening touch was excruciating against her bright white skin and the Void entities continued to lash her with their twisted, corrupted tentacles even as she struggled against them, moonlight continuing to flash from her eyes and striking targets of darkness around her when her scythe arm was entangled. She pulled back against them, ignoring the pain and throwing the abominations back into the vortex from where they came._

 

_But they just kept coming, lashing her again and again, trying to uproot her and cast her into the Void's waiting jaws. Finally, with dozens of the fallen creatures surrounding her, their tentacles secured around her limbs to where she could not break free, they began to pull harder even as she fought._

 

_The White Lady screamed from the pain as they threatened to rip her apart if she didn't given in._

 

“ _Give up. Give in to my darkness...” The Void continued to taunt her, tease her, and entice her to surrender. “All will surrender to me in the end.”_

 

“ _NOOOO!!!!” A deep, bovine bellow shouted across the Great Dark as a flaming, bright double bladed battle-ax was brought down hard on the void tendrils pulling at her. Its burning, searing golden light destroyed the tentacles and dissolved them._

 

_Next, the battle-ax swung again and struck her attackers without mercy and without ceasing again and again and again as the titanic form of a Light filled flaming warrior with the horned head of a Tauren male slammed into them, knocking them backwards as he charged. Golden plates of armor covered his hands, chest, legs, and hooved feet and radiant light erupted like pauldrons from his shoulders. The Light emanating off of him was bright, dangerous, and powerful in contrast to Elune's soft, nurturing, and maternal moonlight. It threatened to overpower her own light even as the Void entities, uncertain now of this new threat, backed away from the warrior assessing their own position._

 

“ _An'she?” The White Lady questioned, not certain if she believed what she was seeing. It had been so long since she had seen her counterpart in his true form, she had begun to doubt his existence herself._

 

“ _I am sorry Mu'sha.” An'she, using her Tauren name, replied to her as he planted himself like a wall between the gentle healer and the darkness of the Void. “I have been too silent for far too long. I should not have left you to care for her alone all this time. Will you forgive me?”_

 

_Elune gazed upon her counterpart, seeing his face and form for the first time in many, many eons. It was true, he had not been there but had watched silently when the Old gods had infested their charge. He had not intervened or assisted in any way when the Legion had threatened her. The most he had done was provide his power to those who chose to follow his light instead of hers, but they had been powerful protectors of Azeroth just as those who wielded hers._

 

_And when she needed him most in that moment, he had not failed her._

 

_She nodded at him in forgiveness. “Together then, brother?”_

 

“ _Together, my Lady.” An'she replied. “For Azeroth.”_

 

_And then, side by side, the two titanic cosmic beings, one revered by the Night Elves of the Alliance and the other by the Tauren of the Horde, attacked the Void and its minions with a renewed vigor, throwing barrage after barrage of radiating Holy Light at the darkness, smashing them and sending their shattered remains back into their master's vortex._

 

_Screaming in rage, the Void cloud lashed out with dark lightning at them, whirling faster and faster trying to drag them towards itself to consume them. “You cannot defeat me! I am eternal!” It roared at them as they struck with blow after blow in defense of the newly emerging Titan._

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

 

In Orgrimmar...

 

Tharok stood holding the cup filled with wine that evening in front of thousands of his people before the entry of Grommash Hold in the Valley of Strength. He was flanked by his brother and sister Orcs from the Argent Crusade who had come with him from the other side of the world. In front of him and off to the right stood Supreme Lord Varok Saurfang. True to his word, he had been the first to accept the cup upon their victory over the Shadow creatures in the city.

 

It had taken all the rest of that night and into the increasingly heated day as they drove through the city and deep into the cleft of Shadows, the Light giving them the strength and endurance to keep going without tiring. The Orc warriors drove the shadows back, deep into Ragefire Chasm under Orgrimmar and had found the Void fissure through which they were coming and the dark practitioners who had formed it dead on the ground, murdered by the creatures they had summoned. Following the voice of the Light within him, Tharok himself had closed the fissure merely by touching it, watching with awe as it burst into flames and dissolved like the abominations it had spawned.

 

And then the warriors that had struck into the chasm had to just as quickly evacuate it. Magma had begun to erupt from cracks and fissures in the walls of the caverns and tunnels and quickly spread, filling in crevices and caverns with a kind of vengeance as though the rock and earth itself wanted to be cleansed from the Shadow's filth and remove all trace of it. No living thing could have survived it.

 

Tharok remembered the warriors who had fallen defending the city with strength and honor as he spoke to his people before presenting the cup of Jeshua's pact. It was only right. He had then spoken of the human teacher he had known in Hearthglen, and what he had seen him do for the Forsaken. He then had spoken of the warning given by the Night Elf goddess to Jeshua's emissary.

 

In truth, he had not known how they would respond. He had not been there in Draenor when his people had first taken the demon's blood, making their own pact with the Legion through Gul'dan. Tharok had not been born yet. But he would have been a fool to not realize what many of them, the older veterans especially, would think of making a pact with some powerful force again. Many of them, he had heard, when they slept still had nightmares of the things they had seen and done while under the influence of the fel's bloodlust.

 

And then Saurfang himself had spoken to his people, “I too have heard of this human teacher from the Warchief herself! I have seen the change as many of you already have that this man wrought in her! Can any of you say it was for the worse?! After everything our people have been through, after everything we have done, after every horror _I_ have done, the Light, once foreign to us, now reaches out to us to save _us_ from certain destruction! I for one will make this pact with the Light through this Jeshua Lightborn! I will not turn away the Light's hand when it is outstretched in friendship to us!”

 

And with that, the aged warrior Orc took the cup from Tharok and drank deeply, surprised that the level of wine in the cup had not lessened when he handed it back to him. “Strength and honor, friend.” He had told Tharok before turning around, crossing his arms, and waiting expectantly for his people to follow his example.

 

And then they did. Orcs, Trolls, Tauren, even some Goblins came. Not all of them, but many, answering Saurfang's challenge to them to not turn away the Light's hand when it was offered. Matron Battlewail, the elderly surrogate mother for the Horde's far too many orphans, had presented herself along with her assistants and their small, innocent wards. Warriors, Mages, Shaman, Sunwalkers, and common peons that had seen what the Argent Crusade warriors had done during the night, it made no difference; Tharok had presented the cup for hours as the people came to drink from it.

 

And then towards the evening, just after the White Lady had risen, the moon disappeared from it's place in the sky without explanation. A great, otherworldly voice had been heard across the valleys of the city speaking in the Darnassian tongue of the Night Elves.

 

A massive earthquake shook the city even as people were still coming to him. In the west and high above them, a great plume of black ash spewed into the sky from Mount Hyjal followed by shooting globs of orange red molten rock. The tremors continued unabated, and magma began to seep from the cleft of Shadows into the Drag.

 

“Get to higher ground!” The call went out as the residents of the city started to climb by any way they could to the Wind Rider aeries and zeppelin towers at the mesa atop the city.

 

The city's Shamans fought to keep the rising molten rock back and under control, but all they could do was buy the others time. It refused to be stopped.

 

On the coastline of Durotar, steaming waters began pushing their boundaries, the waves growing more powerful and more destructive as they slammed into the shoreline and the city's docks. Sea dogs, Kro'kuun guards, and peons abandoned their posts and evacuated inland as wave after wave pounded and splintered the docked transports and juggernauts until there was nothing but wreckage and broken boards. But the fury of the waves wouldn't stop.

 

* * *

 

In the Great Dark High above Azeroth...

 

_Elune felt as much as saw the eruption of Mount Hyjal from high above the world she had watched over. New orange and golden colored fissures opened up around the planet running like an aimless jigsaw puzzle a gnome might create to amuse and frustrate his companions._

 

_As he turned, An'she saw it too and knew that it would not be long now. He then turned back to face the swirling mass of darkness and renew his attack. His silvery white counterpart did the same as more waves and tendrils of Void energy shot out with a renewed desperation at the two guardian gods. The pull against the two became enormous as the Void tried desperately to dislodge its assailants from their positions._

 

_Nearby, a small globe of blue flew past them and into the Void's maw, destroying and collapsing it, tearing apart the companion moon Azeroth's people had called “The Blue Child” until there was nothing left._

 

_And then, in the distance across the Great Dark, a new star appeared that had not been there before. It was still a long ways off, but growing in brightness and intensity like a new sun rise beginning to crest. The two cosmic beings were not the only ones to recognize it._

 

“ _NOOO!!! I WILL CONSUME ALL!!! NOTHING WILL STOP ME!!! NOT EVEN THE LIGHT!!!” The Void cried out across space and time._

 

_The pull against the two became unbearable as debris floating in the vacuum pummeled them on its way to oblivion in the Void's grasp. Swarms of the Void's minions flew out from its darkness as the primal force of destruction fought with all its malevolent dark energy against them._

 

_Elune screamed for the pain as one of her dimensional anchors came free and she was torn between her right foot still held fast and the insatiable, demanding, devouring draw of the Void's power. She hung there in space, swinging her scythe wildly at it and its minions._

 

_An'she, seeing this, became enraged. He caught Elune's hand with his own flaming gauntlet and tried to help her lock herself down again, but she couldn't find her footing. Then, looking down towards Azeroth and seeing the time was at hand, he looked back towards the encroaching Light, so close and not yet here._

 

 _An'she knew he only had to buy them, buy_ her _a little more time. It was what he was created to do, protect_ her _at all costs. But how to give them all the time they needed? The Void was hungry and desperate._

 

_Around him, the minions of the darkness swirled but avoided trying to to touch him directly, instead focusing their attack on his sister guardian, Elune. When they did make contact with the surface of his white golden armor they withdrew quickly as if badly burned. The creatures of the Shadow couldn't stand the presence of the Light. Nothing born of the Void could, not even..._

 

_And then he knew._

 

_The Void, for all its bluster, hated and feared the Light An'she knew. Any Light would burn and hurt its physical, manifest form. An'she himself was the brightest source of Light close at hand._

 

 _As his sister struggled against the onslaught, He realized what he had to do to give them all the time they needed. He would not survive it, he was certain, but_ he _did not need to. His followers, the Sunwalkers, understood the purpose and honor of giving their lives that those they loved might live. He, more so._

 

_He made his decision. He would not let his charge Azeroth or his sister Elune fall today or ever, even if it meant his own life._

 

“ _FOR THE LIGHT!!!” The great Tauren sun god roared his challenge at the Void._

 

_An'she's flaming form then became glorious as he called upon all the Light within him that had given him form and substance. That Light exploded and radiated outwards blindingly._

 

_And then he let go from those anchors which had held him in place against the Void's ravenous pull and charged it, his ax raised high for the strike. Those Void creatures, void gods, void lords, and all of their subordinates either fled before him or were consumed as he smashed through them hard and fast._

 

“ _AN'SHE!!!” Elune cried out for her counterpart, her celestial voice carrying far and wide, as his bright, shining sun form slammed into the Void's swirling clouds and darkness in an explosion of glory._

 

_The swirling darkness erupted in white flames and the Void screamed a deep, gutteral and demonic scream across the Great Dark for the pain of the burning, searing Light that had been forced upon it. Its demanding pull was broken as it erupted in flames, and Elune was freed to anchor herself once more to carry on the fight alone against a much weakened entity of darkness that was struggling to recover._

 

_For a brief moment, she looked towards the exploding sun who had been her companion, silver white tears flowing from her eyes as she said her brother's name once more with a heart breaking despair, “An'she.”_

 

_Then, turning away from the sight for the pain of it, below he, she noticed tiny points of golden Light ascending from the planet's surface even as the land masses of the world began to crack and collapse in fire with explosive force. They grew in number from hundreds, to thousands, until she saw hundreds of thousands if not millions of them rising from all over the surface of the world._

 

_Azeroth's children were now the Light's by adoption. The Holy Light had called them out from the pangs of their mother's true birth._

 

_She then turned her attention back to the weakened monstrosity before her, raised her moonlit scythe and with a great cry, brought its sharp blade edge down hard against the mass of darkness, causing further pain and agony to the Void as she would not let her brother's sacrifice be in vain. She would fight until she couldn't any longer. She owed him no less._

 

_Again and again she struck without mercy, unleashing the full rage of her pain at An'she's loss, at her consort Malorne's loss, at her friend Ysera's loss upon the monstrous, twisted force that was ultimately responsible for them all. Great beams of silvery white energy struck from her eyes, burning the surface of the darkness even further as she screamed in rage and righteous anger. She would not lose Azeroth too! Her own maternal instincts drove her to strike further and harder against the Void even as it tried to recover, lashing out wildly against her with tentacles of Void energy like a great leviathan of the deep._

 

_Beneath her, the world began to crack open as the fissures in the crust grew larger and larger. The world's swirling white clouds all vaporized as atmosphere escaped and burned away from the planet's surface. The waters of its oceans spilled over the land masses, deluging them and wiping them clean, leveling hills and mountains and pouring sediments into valleys. And then whole chunks of the world's crust broke free, crumbling apart and away._

 

_And then a woman's form emerged from among the debris, a goddess new born among the stars. She was titanic in size, broad shouldered with toned, firm muscles, but slender as well. Her skin was a deep, dark azure and crackled with powerful arcane energies which ran across her skin like glowing, circular tattoos. She was naked as a babe which had just been born. Her long, grass green hair spilled around her long tapered Night Elf like ears and two small horns like a Tauren's that protruded from her temples. It flowed like water down her chest and back down past her waist providing a covering. She had five fingers on each slender, feminine hand, and five toes on each foot. Two small, white, just visible tusks jutted from her lower lip. Her facial features were refined and delicate with high cheekbones and deep set eyes with long green eyelashes, her head set atop a tall and stately neck. When she opened her eyes, one glowed golden like the sun, the other glowed with a silver light like the moon. The faint line of a long sapphire colored scar could be seen in her right side, and another circular scar graced her flat stomach._

 

_Azeroth had awoken._

 

_First she looked towards the White Lady, still engaged in her relentless fight against the frightening darkness which had threatened her. Her great Titan's heart went out to her guardian, wishing she could help her somehow. But then she turned expectantly and saw the approaching Light as it grew larger and faster towards her. When she did, an instinctive recognition broke over her beautiful features, and that heart began to beat faster._

 

“ _My husband!” Azeroth spoke into the Great Dark._

 

_And then from across the Great Dark, the voice of the Light responded, “My Beloved!”_

 

_The approaching Light grew until she could see it was made up of thousands of smaller lights surrounding a Being of enormous size and power, radiating purity and holiness. That Being appeared strangely human in form, with silver gold, shoulder length hair and full beard. His skin burned bright like the sun, and he wore robes that radiated pure, Holy Light._

 

_The Being of Light pointed towards her and said, “Robe her.”_

 

_At once, those thousands of Light forged beings, Holy Naaru made of crystallized Light, rushed towards her and surrounded her, interlocking their structures until they became a beautiful gown of radiant light adorning her like no jewels ever could. A tiara of golden Light appeared across her forehead as well._

 

_The Being of Light drew nearer to her, his arms open wide to receive her, strange holes revealed in his wrists as he did. Azeroth opened her own arms to welcome her long awaited husband's embrace._

 

“ _NOOO!!!” The weakened Void mass cried out. “STOP!!! THE BALANCE!!! YOU CAN'T!!! I FORBID IT!!!”_

 

_It began to thrash wildly against Elune's attacks trying to shove her to the side and out of its way, but the moon goddess held her ground in time and space refusing to budge as she responded with fierce strikes and slashes against it. She would see this through to the end no matter what. She owed An'she that much._

 

_His hand met hers and then she fell into his waiting arms._

 

“ _My love!” He told her. “How I've longed for this day, since before time itself!”_

 

“ _My husband!” She called back. “I am yours as you are mine!”_

 

“ _Forever.” He whispered gently to her._

 

_His Light merged with her powerful, innate arcane energies. Time and space itself began to ripple as they joined, intertwining in a lover's dance and becoming one. The powerful energies cascaded from them in waves of glory and then the whole fabric of the space around them began to change. The energies radiated outward harder and faster in an ever expanding globe of power which rushed out to envelope the moon goddess in its pure, energetic Light and then past her as it struck the Void manifestation. But it was not a wave of destruction and death. It was a wave of healing, life, and creation itself._

 

_The Light tore into it with powerful healing force, burning away the darkness of the Void and bringing peace to its madness and pain. It struck deep into the places in between dimensions and rooted out the Shadows and insanity that dwelt there. Quickly, the Light bathed the broken and twisted pieces of the universe which had been the Void in its own embrace and healed them, absorbing the essence which had been lost and wandering for so long back into itself._

 

_The Light continued to expand throughout the Great Dark, bringing its healing force everywhere it touched. It plunged into the Twisting Nether and raced across all those worlds trapped therein, rushing across the surface of the Outland, rebuilding it and reshaping it into the world the Holy Light had meant Draenor to be. Across space and time, it struck against the shattered remains of Argus, healing and restoring those pieces and bringing peace to those souls still trapped there. Everywhere the combined energies of Azeroth and the Holy Light touched new life emerged and took root free of the corruption of the Shadow._

 

_And in the center of the creative explosion, a new green world began to form, untainted and unsullied by the twisted insanity of the Void or its minions. Azeroth's emerald dream unfolded as the new reality in place of the world that had incubated her for so long._

 

_Soon, faster than Light alone could travel, the corruption that had tainted the Light's creation for so long, the corruption that had destroyed those things the Light held dear and threatened to consume everything the Holy Light loved passionately was gone. It had been completely erased from the boundaries of time, space and all dimensions in between._

 

_The Holy Light's eons long nightmare had finally come to an end, and a great peace settled over the universe._

 

_* * *_

 

Somewhere on a rocky cliff overlooking the sea on a new world...

 

Anduin Wrynn looked out across a deep blue, crystal clear sea before him. He did not know how he had come to this place. One moment he had been trying to get his people in Stormwind to higher ground, the next he found himself peacefully watching the water below where he stood, and listening to its sounds.

 

His feet felt solid against the gray and marble rock beneath him. The air was cool and comfortable and filled with the welcome smells of sea salt. The golden colored sky above him held a few, wispy clouds. He could not see where the daylight was coming from however. There had been no sun in the sky above that he could find. His last memory of the sun... Had it been real? Now, he wasn't so sure, but it was still nowhere to be found.

 

In the distance to his left were vibrant green hills beyond which he could see the treetops of an emerald forest, greener and more vibrant than any he had ever seen, and yet strangely familiar. Behind him was a green and growing valley, at the end of which sat a crystal clear lake at the foot of majestic purple mountains. The colors were brighter, the air fresher and sweeter, the peaceful sounds of the crashing waves before him more clear and distinct than he had ever known any before. There was a peace and a joy in this place that he felt in the very depths of his being.

 

He felt at home there. He felt rest there. And yet he was certain he had never seen it before.

 

Behind him, in the valley, were thousands of people of every race in the Alliance that he knew of. Humans, dwarves, Draenei, gnomes, elves of every kind, every race was represented as far as he could see, though he saw no Worgen and wondered at it. But there were no buildings, no human, elf, or dwarven made structures of any kind anywhere. The world he found himself in was pristine, untouched and uncivilized, and beautiful like nothing he'd ever experienced before.

 

He had just materialized here, in this place. It looked so familiar to him, but he was certain he had never seen it before. Nevertheless, he had the sense that he had been brought home somehow and that home had been thoroughly cleaned and made ready for him. No, it had been transformed into a paradise.

 

“Well done, Anduin.” He heard the voice of a young man, only a few years younger than himself address him.

 

Anduin turned in the direction of the voice to see a light skinned human man with strawberry blond hair and beard, and sea green eyes. He wore a robe of golden light. Standing next to him was an exotic looking, beautiful young woman who herself looked at the man who had addressed him with love in her eyes. She most resembled a dark skinned, emerald haired Night Elf, maybe even like one of the _Shal'dorei_ to the young man, but with a Tauren's horns and a troll woman's tusks. She too was arrayed as though the Light itself had robed her with sparkling jewels.

 

“Well done, my friend.” The man said, gesturing to the mass of people in the valley. “All the lives you saved.”

 

When the man gestured, Anduin saw a gaping hole in the man's wrist as though someone had driven a spike through it. The man's identity clicked in the young monarch's mind. Looking again at the woman next to him, he then realized who she was as well. Immediately, the king of Stormwind then took a knee before them.

 

“I'm sorry, my lord.” Anduin told him. “We didn't save everyone. We couldn't convince everyone to come, and some we just didn't reach in time. We tried, but we couldn't get to everyone in time.”

 

With a serious, and saddened expression, Jeshua responded, “I know. What's done, is done. Look at all those who are here because you did act though. Thank you for listening, Anduin. Even though you never saw me before now, you still had the faith to trust me.”

 

Jeshua then moved forward and took Anduin by the hand and raised him to his feet. “I wanted you to know how much I appreciate that faith you always placed in me, even when you couldn't see me there with you.”

 

Anduin nodded, surprised by the man's declaration, unsure of what to say in response.

 

“Oh, I also wanted to bring you two people who have been asking about you for a long time. I met them in the Shadowlands during my brief stay. They seem quite eager to see you.” Jeshua then told him.

 

A confused expression passed over Anduin's features as he looked past Jeshua who then turned once more, stepping out of the way and gesturing to a point down the slope not far from them. His royal blue eyes followed Jeshua's fingers until they fell upon a pretty young woman in a royal dress with long, golden blond hair and blue eyes exactly like his own. Standing next to her was a muscular man with strong clean shaven if scarred features and dark wavy hair. He was wearing a white shirt and royal blue pants. His shirt bore the monogram of Stormwind's royal monarchy.

 

Tears came to Anduin's eyes as he recognized them, “Mother? Father?”

 

“We will leave the three of you to get reacquainted.” Jeshua then told him, smiling as he did. Then addressing his wife, he said, “Come beloved, there are others I need to speak with.”

 

She nodded, and then suddenly they were gone, vanished in a golden shower of Light.

 

Anduin stood still, unable to move and barely able to breathe as Tiffin and Varian Wrynn approached him. His mother reached out to him, caressing his cheek with her hand as his father placed his hand on Anduin's shoulder and declared, “I am so proud of the man you've become, son. Stormwind has never had a greater king than in its final days.”

 

And then Anduin embraced his parents fiercely.

 

* * *

 

Elsewhere in the world...

 

Sylvanas Windrunner stood next to her consort atop a hill overlooking the sea as well. Behind them was a green and gold forest. She breathed in the scent of the green, vibrant trees deeply, wondering where she and Nathanos were. Though she could not place it, the landscape felt like home, and she was at peace.

 

As she turned to take in the sight, she saw two other High Elf women standing nearby and recognized them. They were her sisters, Alleria and Vereesa. They too looked at the world around them with a confused mixture of recognition and not.

 

“Hello, Sylvanas, Nathanos.” Sylvanas heard the familiar voice of the man who had given her back her life.

 

She and Nathanos turned to face him, both holding each other's hands tightly. He was accompanied by an exotically beautiful woman robed in light that resembled neither Night Elf, nor Troll, not Tauren, nor human or dwarf but some combination of all the best qualities of each. There was an expression of love and kindness on her exquisite face.

 

Jeshua smiled broadly at the elf woman and her human consort. “I thought I might find you here.”

 

“Where are we, Jeshua?” Sylvanas asked. “It looks familiar but I don't remember it.”

 

“Quel'Thalas.” Jeshua replied. “Quel'Thalas as Azeroth dreamed it could be.” He then gestured towards the woman next to him and Sylvanas then understood with some shock as to who she was.

 

“The Dream the druids spoke of?” Sylvanas repeated as her mind worked through what he said. “The Emerald Dream has become... all this?” She said with wonder.

 

“Did I not tell you you would be in paradise with me?” He responded.

 

She didn't know what to say. It was peaceful. It was beautiful. It was gloriously vibrant and alive. Tears came to her eyes and she managed to whisper two words in response, both choked with emotion, “Thank you.” Then she choked out, “I don't... I don't deserve this. With everything I've done, every horrible thing I've done without remorse and without mercy. You had every right to let me fall into oblivion.”

 

“It was never about deserving anything, child.” Jeshua told her. At this, Azeroth approached her in a motherly fashion, and began to wipe her tears from her face with her hand, nothing but compassion in her expression. “I wanted to heal you from your sickness, all of you. That's all I've ever wanted.” He explained. “I've only ever wanted you all to know how much I've loved you, and to heal you from the Void's corruption, and now I have. Now, go. Live the life I've given you. Be truly free. You, and all your people. Fill this world and enjoy it as our gift to you.”

 

Sylvanas tried to comprehend the generosity and compassion that drove this Being's very existence and she found that she couldn't. She didn't understand, but a deep feeling of gratitude and a peaceful joy welled up inside of her and she squeezed Nathanos' hand tightly once more.

 

“And you, Jeshua?” Sylvanas then asked. “Where will you and she be?”

 

Jeshua smiled once more as his wife came to join him. “I will always be right here, Sylvanas. I was the first and I will be the last. I am not going anywhere, and neither is my beautiful queen. Our Kingdom of Light has come.”

 

 

THE END


End file.
